A Fleeting Memory
by iamphantomgirl
Summary: Erik accepts a gift from the khanum with reluctance, and finds passion one brief night fifteen years before the disaster in Paris. The results of that night are unknown to him, until he discovers the truth: that he has a son. Seq:Diminishment of the Ghost
1. Catapultion

LAURE

When I look back on my time in Persia, I reflect on the fact that I seduced a powerful man. Not the bizarre and twisted murders that the same man carried out, but the fact that _I _seduced him. I-the lonely and pathetic wretch of a girl who had been stolen from the shores of my home on the Island of Corsica not a year and a half before. Long before I arrived, Erik was there. Long before I heard his name whispered in the harem did I feel a tremor when I saw his commanding presence in the courtyard below the khanum.

I was to be an odalisque for the time being. I often displeased the evil woman who controlled the harem with an iron fist and a raw fury that still caught me by surprise weeks after I had been under her reign.

The first time I ever saw his face, I had stared transfixed. The ugliness and beauty were a strange combination, as if the paintbrush had momentarily slipped from the artists grasp, and marred half of his masculine features. The khanum, or Olia as we called her inside the harem, would not permit Erik to wear his mask in her presence. The angry lash of her tongue was enough to quell the audible dismay the other women felt when he would appear.

He had been there for some time now, and had been perhaps around twenty years of age. I often studied his features, and decided that with his mannerism and occasional references to my own culture, he had to be French. It was a tool I would use ruthlessly to gain my freedom, and my life.

I was born in Ajaccio, on the island of Corsica. I find it ironic that someone as important as Napoleon came from the same island as I. I-who would never know anything other than my small island, and the year and a half I spent in Mazanderan. The island was a simple and beautiful place, and my mind wandered there often as I attended the ladies of the harem. I cannot describe the mortification I felt when I first entered and was descended on by a hoard of naked women. It was nothing though, to the complete terror of being kidnapped by pirates.

Pirates! Yes, the barbarians that still roamed the seas then, and I'm told do so to this day. I no longer venture onto the coast at night, and have moved inland away from such danger and beauty as the cold and unfeeling sea.

My first love, and only so far, was Pascal Messere. He was Italian through and through, but my parents approved of him with great passion. Since I was far too young for marriage, they allowed us to court in secret, with a firm promise that nothing was to transpire during those stolen moments. I promised, and we both obeyed the gentle and firm commands of my father. I loved my parents, and I would have done nothing to shame them.

Pascal was educated, only slightly handsome, but wonderfully romantic. There was nothing more he loved to do than stroll along the moonlit beach in front of the sprawling manor my father had built from the wealth and esteem of shipbuilding, his greatest passion. Indeed, had I not already been acclimated to the rough waters of the Mediterranean, I probably would have heartedly pitched myself overboard once I had discovered my Fate upon that hideous thing that they had named a ship.

The city was protected by the peninsula, but our house was on the opposite side of the majestic hills, and was quite secluded. The small cove we often sat near, talking, had never been occupied before that night. In a sudden and blinding rush, they had attacked. Pascal had died quickly, that much I could see.

Run through by the blade of the rapier from a vile and disgusting man, who had then turned his attentions on me.

"Yes," he said softly, running the blade still dripping with Pascal's blood over my fourteen year old body, "You will fetch a nice price. I assume, you are still virginal?"

I had begun to cry by then, and it had made him laugh. The maniacal laughter still haunts me to this day, even though the only thing that ever happened to me during my time with them, was that I was first kidnapped, then sold. Of course, there had also been a humiliating inspection, to ensure my chasteness.

In my mind, I cannot conjure up what twisted thread of Fate led me to Olia. In doing so, I was bound on a crash collision course with Erik.

He displeased her at almost every turn. He was constantly making her angry with his snide comments, his unfailing criticism of her and her boring and childish ways. Only, there had never been a child inside this insane woman. She would have fit right in with Vlad Dracul, or Elizabeth Bathory, because nothing pleased her more than when someone died. I was disgusted by her. How could I not?

I was fourteen when I arrived in the harem, and knew nothing of the sick and perverted world that she had embraced. Looking back, I think she must have been the epitome of 'absolute power corrupts absolutely'. Although she was only the mother of the shah, she wielded more influence in some areas of the government than he did.

Erik hated her. So did I. I guess in that simple and consuming emotion, somehow we found a bond. I wonder if he knew that it was I who relayed information to Nadir. I was the one who listened with discreet intensity to everything he had to say, and I divulged it to one of the eunuchs in the compound, sharing with him an enormous profit. It was regrettable that I was never allowed to spend it. I could not even allow it to be seen. I tucked it away, hoping that someday I would be rescued, hoping it would be before I entered the harem not as a servant to the women, but an unwilling body to the men.

Erik provided Olia with amusement and death, but soon I could tell he was weary with her idle threats and useless toys. She wanted an endless parade of blood before her, I think that at times she would have bathed in it, just like Lady Bathory. I saw shame in his eyes when he entered the harem, and a weariness and sadness that I couldn't comprehend. He was barely older than I! How could he bear so much misery? His face was tragic, but I knew that it was his heart that suffered the most.

It was never more apparent than the morning after Aysel had been sent to Erik's chambers. She had returned the night before, the same age as me, and had been terrified. She knew that when she returned untouched she would be executed. She told me that he had dared her to remove his mask, and that she had been immobilized by fear.

"Nothing could have prepared me for that. I couldn't bear it. I would rather die!"

I was shocked by the petulance and ignorance in her statement. He was European, certainly, and she had been sent by her parents in hopes that she would be a bride to the shah. She hadn't wanted to shame them by becoming a prostitute at the khanum's whims. She would be a wife of the shah, or she would die.

It was _her_ Fate, I suppose. Yet I had never seen Erik so angry or cold toward the khanum. He looked at Aysel in that little room, and turned away in disgust. He left without her approval, and we all felt the chill the rest of the day, long after we heard the dying screams inside the room as Aysel went up in flames.

Little did I know, I was to be next. I close my eyes now, resting my head upon the chair in my dim library. My guest clears his throat, but I ignore him. My mind is already miles away, back to my one night of passion, the night I granted a dangerous and lonely man absolution from a life of misery and bitterness.

The night I surrendered myself to _Erik._


	2. The Decision

LAURE

The khanum was viciously angry with him for refusing the girl, and it was unforgivable that he had not watched her die. She steamrolled us all that morning, berating the servants for our stupidity, and the other women for their laziness. Not that she had a laborious bone in her body, but the hypocrisy was lost on her. Her dark eyes flashed pure venom, and she lined us all up to beat us with her polished wooden slate board. It was only until she reached me that she seemed to have an epiphany.

"You!" she nearly screeched at me, "Remove your veil at once!"

I did so, casting my eyes to the floor, but it was a mistake. The slate board caught me across the side of the head, then was roughly thrust under my chin until I was looking into her murderous eyes.

"What is your country of origin?" she spat, "You're a little French girl, aren't you?"

I nodded my head hesitantly.

"Speak up, you imbecile!"

"Yes, khanum. I am from France," I whispered.

I would not reveal to her my native island home. It seemed far too accessible now, and I did hope to return there. Perhaps my parents were still there, waiting for me to return from my stroll with Pascal.

"You have promising beauty," she muttered, "for a European."

I felt her eyes on me, everywhere, and I prayed that she would not force me to undergo another inspection. The odalisque were forced to endure them almost systematically every month. I had become immune to the brief yet incredibly invasive procedure, but it did not stop me from dreading it.

"What did you think of Aysel?" she murmured, giving me an evil smile. It seemed to be the only time emotion other than anger touched those dark orbs, when she was plotting something truly horrifying.

"I think she would have been better off, if she had accepted your commands, my lady."

The answer earned me a swift rap on the head again, but I could tell she was secretly pleased by my response. She tucked her arms behind her back and walked the length of us all, still in a row under the portico. Drifting back to me several moments later, she leaned in and said in a cruel voice, "We will have to see if you deny him, or if you will die just like Aysel."

I felt the blood drain from my face as she walked away from me. The agony! I had been here all this time, and almost become complacent in the fact that I would never leave. Yet, I had remained untouched, almost treated with respect because I was valued. As long as I was a virgin. I knew she planned on killing Erik eventually. We couldn't help but overhear her tirades after he would leave her fuming. But if I did this thing, if I did what Aysel could not, where would I be once he was gone? If I feared obeying the khanum's dictates, I most certainly feared more losing the man who would be my buffer against her. I could become his wife, if he chose. I could become more.

I felt a kinship with him, because he was from Europe, and more so because he was from France. He was the only other French person I had seen since I was taken, and I suddenly longed to be sent to him, if merely to talk. Surely he would talk with me! I remembered the fear that Aysel had said she felt, and that she would prefer death to his touch.

I shuddered. I knew everything and nothing of what happened between men and women. His mask had no bearing on my nervousness. I have seen his face, half perfect, half demon. But I have also sensed his raw power, his masculine and commanding authority that he exudes over everyone, including the khanum. I have also seen him kill. That is why she hates and fears him so much. Why she is contriving to take his innocence, yes innocence! I have heard it repeated that during his first visits here she demanded to know if he had known a woman, at least biblically.

His response had been less than altruistic. If I believed nothing else about him, I could take comfort in that fact. That, and we shared an equal hatred of a woman and culture that we didn't quite understand. I relinquished my role that night of an odalisque, and was prepared by my former friends to please Erik. I blushed when I was given specific instructions on how to please him, not really understanding, and unable to look away.

I couldn't do this, could I? To possess someone in such an intimate way, and someone with the amazing presence that Erik exuded by simply gesturing with his elegant hands. It was unthinkable.

Olia waited nearly a week for him to cool down, and when I saw him the next time, she had ordered that he be brought to her. His barely controlled rage was evident to us all. He lashed out at her for disrupting his work, saying he had not come all this way to indulge a spoiled old woman.

Her icy response had nearly stopped my heart. I knew then, that even if I did this, Erik's time was limited in Persia. Perhaps when he left, he could take me with him. He couldn't see me from the shadows of the balcony window, but I looked upon his ravage flesh with a sudden indifference.

I would do whatever it took to survive. The face of the man was of no concern. It was the desire for my homeland that would spur me to these actions, I told myself. It had nothing to do with the nervousness that I felt when I watched the way his body moved. He was tall and lean, far too lean in fact, and he was deeply tanned from the hours spent building the secret palace for the shah.

When he left that day he defiantly slipped his mask on in front of her before leaving. He had only done so one other time, and did it merely to provoke her. The mask covered his entire face, leaving only two holes for his pale eyes to peer out of, a slightly foreboding slope where his nose lay, and it even covered his lips, with an oddly shaped mouth space where his lips hid behind. There was no need of a full length mask, only half of his face was marred. He had to find it a terrible inconvenience to wear something so confining in the heat of Mazanderan. Yet I knew that when he left here, it was on unfailingly.

After he left, Olia turned to me with anger and a triumphant gleam in her eyes.

"I hope you are prepared, Laure, because you have a very important decision to make, tonight in fact!"

Little did she know the decision had already been reached. It was never about her control over me though, in the end, it had all been about him.


	3. The Present

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

"Laure?"

I heard the voice calling me from a distance. I shook off the memories of Erik, and looked to the man sitting across from me. Nadir Khan. I have not seen him in quite sometime now. Nearly ten years to be exact. He came to me after his exile from Mazanderan, where he had been imprisoned for his disloyalty for helping Erik escape. For some foolish reason he had come looking for me, thinking that Erik may have come here after he left Persia. Instead he had found something else, which I had been reluctant to share even with him.

"Nadir," I managed to say softly, "I was just thinking about the past. Isn't it strange how things get so tangled up sometimes?"

"Yes," he said gruffly, "it is indeed an unfortunate occurrence."

I wondered why he was here now. I felt uneasy, because if it was for the reason I thought, there was nothing I could do to stop him. Already I could feel the walls closing in.

"Why have you come?" I gasped suddenly, wanting to know more than anything what possible reason had brought him from Paris.

"He is still alive."

I bowed my head. Erik was still alive. Over the last five years Nadir had kept in touch with me, begrudgingly telling me everything about Erik and the Opera Populaire. His last letter sent over three months ago had devastated me. It was still hidden in a space of my bureau, out of sight, out of mind. Almost anyway. I knew everything. I knew about the fire, about his love and obsession for a girl far too young for him. I knew it had been spurned, and he had nearly killed the entire theater in his rage.

"He needs to know, Laure. I cannot in good conscience keep this from him a moment longer. I should have told him years ago," he said softly, "he needs to know about his son."

My eyes filled with tears, and I began to cry. His son. My son. Our son. What I would have given for him to have known fifteen years ago. When he had just come from Persia, still young, still capable of remorse. The last five years had shown me what depths Erik could sink to, and I was terrified of what it could mean to Nicolas.

At fifteen, he bore a remarkable resemblance to Erik, as he had been at twenty. He represented what Erik would have looked like if he had been born as perfect and loved as Nicolas. I denied him nothing, and only in extreme times was his temper evident. In that regard he could be somewhat like his father, but I knew that he had some control, where often Erik had none.

He didn't ask about his father anymore. Not for the last five years. I had told him everything that I dared about his father, only including what he needed to hear. His father would have been there, had he known, but it wasn't possible. I told him little about the mask, although he was curious. My artistic drive had even inspired me to paint Nicolas a small portrait of his father, and I had included what I remembered of him that night. He had remained a mystery to my eyes, and I have forever longed to know what it was that he felt behind that cool leather.

I cannot say why I have never taken a husband. I suppose the harem has turned me off on marriage, because I have seen how little some cultures regard it. To them it was nothing more than an addition to their already bursting households. I have no desire to be a wife. I have committed myself to motherhood, and been content with the memory of a man who I know probably never existed. Not outside of that night anyway. Not outside the walls of that bedroom. I know that Erik would hate another man raising his son. It was also the fear of him returning someday that kept me obediently away from all other men.

"I think seeing Nicolas would snap him out of it. He needs something to connect him with life. I fear he will kill himself, even if he never actually takes the knife in his hand."

I shuddered. There would be nothing worse for my son than for his father to take his own life. In spite of the darkness that was scorched upon his soul, I hoped that he would finally be able to let his demons go. There was nothing more terrifying than Erik's wrath, than Erik's pain. Erik crying is one thing I will never forget. For as long as I have lived have I seen a man so humiliated and hurt.

"Where is he now?" I asked slowly.

"Paris. Still living below the theater," he muttered, "I can't stay any longer. I just wanted to hear your response in person. He needs this Laure. I will tell him no matter what. He is going to hate me for keeping Nicolas from him for five years. I don't believe I am prepared for that conversation, but I will make it nonetheless."

"Do you think he will kill you?" I demanded.

"Probably."

"Tell him if he does, I will leave this island, and he will never see Nicolas," I offered, knowing it was an empty threat.

"No," he chuckled, "I don't believe I will ever threaten him with something like that. I suggest that you refrain from doing so as well."

I sighed, wondering how I was going to break this news to my son. Our son. For five years he has given me no clue that he even thinks about his father. I wonder if my own father has been enough of a substitute for the drive and ambition that Erik had exuded when he was younger.

I simply couldn't imagine him defeated.

He had a restless calm about him that had comforted me, given me the courage I had needed to surrender to him that night. I had also needed that encouragement to ride across the desert with no protection except for my eunuch partner in crime, and my head in a haze of sand towards my distant island home. I never thought that I would receive such a gift.

My son.

"Please come back here with him. I know you have always been able to keep him grounded," I paused, "somewhat anyway."

"So you agree?"

"I never wanted to keep him away. Not until I found out about Paris."

* * *

As far as I knew, Nadir had tracked Erik down about five years ago. They had met by chance on a rainy and frigid day in Paris, and after finding out what Erik had been up to, he had been reluctant to tell him about Nicolas. When he had informed me of Erik's deceit, my fantasy had evaporated quickly. I had wanted him to find us someday. I wanted my son to meet the father who had been so full of fire and passion, of pain and heartache. Who had never known kindness. I wanted my son to love him, because I knew how desperately Erik needed love.

The connection I felt for him had remained strong all these years, and it was only when I received the first letter from Nadir that I realized how naïve I had been. I had thought, after what we shared, that he would pine for me, that he would find me if he ever made it out of Persia. The first five years, I believed he was dead. That would have been the only reason he hadn't come. Then Nadir came ten years ago, saying Erik had survived unscathed. I had been disappointed, but still hopeful. Five years ago I lost all patience and compassion for him. If he truly cared about me, he would have returned. I knew that he didn't, and I stubbornly remained silent on the subject of Nicolas. Nadir's letters were filled with platitudes for me to reconsider, to give Erik what he needed, but my only thought was protecting my son against someone so dangerous and heartless that he was feared by everyone, including Nadir.

* * *

After Nadir left I went down to the docks, some great distance away from my house, and watched my son working on one of his grandfather's newest ships. He had learned everything he needed for the trade, and someday he would inherit it all. I knew that his adept mind and reasoning skills astonished even my father, and he had often inquired about the man who had sired him. I had told him everything. He knew as much about Erik as I did, including a few details of the night we created Nicolas. Surprisingly he had been good natured about it. I knew how fiercely he loved my mother, and he admitted that what I had done had been the right thing. I was a survivor, and I had been rewarded with a wonderful gift from God.

"Mother!" Nicolas looked up from his perch on the bow of the ship.

I lifted my hand to shield the sun from my eyes, and waved exuberantly with the other. It was a gesture that had became ours, and we often waved at each other as an amusing and exaggerated gesture of our love and affection.

"I have to speak with your Grandfather. I need you to head back to the house," I called, trying to keep my voice light.

He frowned at me, and I knew I had betrayed my nervousness. I waved dismissively at him, and strode to the office where my father was poring over a ledger.

"Papa?"

He glanced up and immediately became worried over my ashen appearance.

"What's wrong Laure? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

I laughed suddenly, thinking how much he was right. Erik was a ghost. He had been for nearly ten years.

"Erik is alive. Nadir wants me to allow him to come here."

My father put his arms around me, hugging me tightly to his chest. I lowered my face to his shoulder, grateful as always for his easy and loving support.

I think my father thinks that my stories about Erik's temper are exaggerated. Fifteen years has not lessened the memory of his anger. Yet, it had not been directed at me. Not really. He had never hurt me, never tried to even scare me. It was the khanum he wanted dead, not me. Erik had never hurt me, not physically anyway.

"I think he should. That boy needs his father," he said firmly.

"But...Papa...," I began.

"He needs his father. Just like you needed me." he sighed, "I could forgive that man for anything for sending you home to me, sweetheart. I know you've heard this before, but it's true. He gave me not one, but two gifts."

He blushed a little at the last remark, and I felt my own face heat.

"You need to go talk to your son. He looks quite upset."

"What?" I gasped.

I turned around to find Nicolas staring through the window at us, an expression of worry and fear on his face. I immediately stepped away from my father, wishing I had made sure he had went up to the house. I wasn't prepared for Nicolas. I wasn't prepared for Erik either, but with each second that ticked by, I felt a growing and horrendous pressure building, as if the earthquake would start in Paris, and the tidal wave would reach Corsica at any moment. I wondered if we would all drown in Erik's fury, or if the shock would kill him.


	4. What Must be Done

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

* * *

A/N: I am taking GerrysJackie's advice, and this Erik will have a beautiful head of hair to call his own. It is far too tedious to always be writing about wigs. Enjoy...

* * *

Nicolas and I walked to the house in silence, and I could hear his breathing was shallow and rapid. He was panting from nervousness. I placed my arm across his broad shoulders and led him over the hill to our home. He was nearly as tall as Erik had been, although I suspected he still had several more inches to grow. His eyes are mine, hazel, and for that I am grateful. They were the only thing I could see clearly about Erik from that night, and I would have dreaded looking into them every morning for the last fifteen years. But everything else is Erik. His features, his hair, his build. He even has the extraordinarily long fingers, although his not quite as bony. I suspect that Erik's thinness had more to do with his lack of interest in food than anything. That, and the drugs that he had been fond of. I knew that he had shunned them since he returned to Europe, because I had asked Nadir about it specifically. I didn't want my son exposed to that sort of depravity. I was hesitant to allow him to be exposed to his father at all, but I knew it wasn't in my hands anymore.

Erik was going to be furious.

"I heard something about your father today."

I felt Nicolas stiffen beneath my arm. I placed my hand firmly around his shoulder and continued walking.

"What?" he asked warily.

"He is alive. And I believe he will be coming to see you sometime soon," I said evenly.

He stopped walking, and I almost pitched forward as he jerked away from me.

"Why?" he asked angrily, and I drew back in surprise.

"Because you're his son. He doesn't know about you. But I have sent word. He will find out about you soon," I managed, surprised by his tone. He sounded very much like Erik right now.

"What about Paris?" he muttered, and I swayed in sudden shock.

"Paris?" I asked weakly.

"Paris!" he shouted at me, and I saw the hurt flash into his eyes.

My God, he had been reading those letters from Nadir, and I had not even known! I should have! He was Erik's son after all, and if there was anything I knew about Erik, he was infinitely curious. The shah had been livid when he found out the necklace from his favored cat had been stolen. He had taken it, just to amuse himself. He did odd things all the time, just to amuse himself.

He had a morbid fascination in all things, and for awhile, it had been death.

"I'm sorry Nicolas. I wish you had told me you knew. It would have saved so much grief," I said softly, my voice catching.

"He doesn't care about anything but himself."

I silently agreed with him, but I knew there was much more to it than that. He cared about everyone, yet he hated them as well.

"Nicolas, you don't understand. Please, just give him a chance," I whispered, "he is a very disturbed man. He doesn't know about you yet. He's going to be furious that he wasn't informed."

"I don't care," he spat, "I wish you had never told me about him! I wish I didn't have a monster for a father!"

He turned from me and stalked to the house, leaving me there in misery. God, what had I done? I had kept secrets from Nicolas, from Erik, and now they were both going to hate me. The one who should have been beside me all these years, hadn't been. I wondered if the bond between father and son was strong enough. If it would be able to withstand Erik's madness.

* * *

I remember that night in Eriks' apartment with a strange fondness that I cannot quite describe. It was obvious to me that we were both unskilled in the act of lovemaking, yet the utter abandon that we had thrown into it had somehow remained very clear in my mind. I had been escorted to him that evening, dressed in sheer red and black silks, my eyes not lined like the other harem girls. Olia had wanted Erik to see me as a true European beauty, one he would be unable to resist. She had mocked me as I passed by her in the courtyard, saying she hoped my time with the ugly demon was memorable.

I kept my eyes lowered when they showed me into his apartment, and I not only heard, but I _felt_ the sudden hostility and rage in the room. Several lamps and tables were thrown across the room in his furious tantrum, before he had turned to me with a quiet and commanding calm, asking me to come forward.

"How old are you?" he demanded without removing my veil. I kept my eyes lowered, fearing he would burn holes into me.

"Fifteen."

He growled fiercely in his throat, and sent the eunuchs a fierce glare.

"Get her out of here. If she wishes to send another girl to her death, it is not on my conscious!"

With horror, I realized that they were about to drag me from his room. _That _was when I began to feel terrified. I screamed, kicked, and clawed at them, and Erik watched with a detachedness that made me furious.

"You bastard!" I spat in French. "You won't save me? You won't even speak to me?"

He sprung forward suddenly in surprise at my language, at my native tongue.

"Erik!" I screamed, twisting around to free myself from their grasp. I screamed his name again. It was the only thing I knew about him, and I held onto it like a prayer, hoping someone would hear my cry.

It seemed the dark and brooding man in front of me had. He raised his hands in a dismissive gesture to the eunuchs, and ordered them to leave the room.

"You're French?" he asked, almost eagerly.

"Yes," I sobbed, trying to fix my clothes. They were indecent. They barely hid a thing on me, and my exposed stomach quivered with a violent and rolling surge. My toes curled into his carpet, and I wished I could have curled up and died.

"An odalisque?"

I nodded vacantly, looking at him with wariness and apprehension.

"Why did she send you?" he asked slowly.

"Why do you think? Because I am French, and she knew it would get a rise out of you."

He came forward and removed my veil impatiently. I felt thoroughly studied under those intense eyes. He sighed suddenly and raked a hand through his hair. I watched the elegant gesture with fascination, wondering if I would have that chance tonight.

"You know what she will do to me, if I return as Aysel."

He turned his back to me suddenly, and I noted a nervous shaking in his thin shoulders.

"You don't want this," he muttered, "perhaps I should kill you now, so you do not suffer."

"I don't want to die," I said softly, "I prepared myself for you. I have known her...intentions for many days now."

"Prepared?" he asked, lowering his head suddenly to his chest.

I could see nothing of his expression, could hear nothing in his voice to betray what he was thinking.

"Yes," I whispered, "they teach us...things."

He wouldn't face me, and I was becoming uncomfortable in his tense silence.

"You would consider...," he broke off suddenly, his hands clenching into fists. I watched him struggle with all the pain of a floundering wounded animal.

"To save her life, you fool," he muttered under his breath, "nothing more."

"Please don't send me away," I whispered tremulously.

"If you just stay here, the entire night...," he began, and I heard the finality of his tone.

"No. They will check. They will make certain."

He whipped around to face me, "They do what?"

I clenched my hands nervously around my discarded veil, wishing I could sink into the floor.

"They inspect us. Like livestock. Or like a festering boil," I added shakily.

He laughed suddenly, and I stared at him in delight. I could forget everything else about him when he made such a sound! It contained all the warmth of his soul, discrediting all the violence and blood that soaked his hands. I wondered what I said that could have made him laugh, but he was a very moody person.

"So, we find ourself with a dilemma. You are willing," he paused, "and I am not."

I felt as if my entire world would collapse at his flat statement. I would be executed tomorrow, by the man's own device. The man who could save me, but would not. Blindly I stumbled further into the apartment, falling onto one of his elegant chairs.

"Mademoiselle?" he asked urgently, "Are you unwell?"

"I'm going to die in your torture room, just as Aysel. How do you think I feel?" I said raggedly, trying to fight off a growing wave of panic. "All I wanted was to return home," I whispered, "home."

He left the room, obviously uncomfortable with my silent sobbing. I looked around the room in despair, wishing there was another man to avail himself to me suddenly. I would have done it myself, if only I knew how to be rid of the proof of my virginity.

I only found a curious assortment of objects, from strange looking injured animals to scientific experiments. They told me a great deal about the man behind the mask. I wonder if he knew that the khanum wanted to invite him into her bed, but feared that he would kill her. She had many enemies, but none greater than Erik.

"You can come out. I am quite composed."

Instantly he appeared beside me, and I realized I had no idea where he had come from. I tilted my head back to look into his eyes, and with great hesitation he knelt down beside me.

"You would consider...lying with me? You prefer it over death?" he asked hoarsely.

"There are worse things in this world than what I'm asking you to do," I said testily, "I am a very practical girl."

"You're fifteen," he returned bitterly, "what do you know about practicality?"

"I know if I want to live, then I need to give the khanum what she wants. Even if you are dead tomorrow," I retorted.

He narrowed his eyes at me, and I realized he thought I was here to assassinate him.

"She's going to kill you for your insolence, but it won't be at my hand," I said coolly.

"Is she plotting?"

"Always," I said softly, "I don't think she can dream without picturing a way to kill you."

He grunted at me, obviously not hearing anything new. I studied the mask from the close proximity.

"Why do you wear an entire mask?"

He stared at me thoughtfully for a moment, "Because my face is a mockery of what it could have been. I will reveal it all, or I reveal nothing."

"I think you are very charming man, or you could be."

He turned his face away from me, hiding even the mask from my gaze.

"Don't say things like that to me," he said quietly, "or I will send you from this room."

"Forgive me," I replied gently.

I understood what pain and heartache he suffered for his hated flesh. I reached out almost absently and touched his arm, and was surprised when he jerked away from me vehemently.

"You're just a girl. I can't do this," he whispered, "it's wrong."

"Killing is wrong. I have seen you practice it like an art. If I leave here untouched," I returned sadly, "you will be causing a far more mortal sin than adultery. And you are barely older than me. I'll be sixteen in two months."

"I feel ancient."

"You're barely twenty, if that," I said gently, "please, Erik. _Save me_."

He turned around to look at me then, with a weary resignation in his eyes. He didn't want this. He didn't want me. Even with his marred flesh, I felt inferior to him. He was beautiful and graceful in a way I couldn't begin to define. I reached out to trace a hand hesitantly over his mask, and I saw his eyes close through the narrow slits.

"You hate this thing, don't you? You hate taking it off?" I asked with what I hoped was kindness.

He nodded his head slightly, not meeting my eyes.

"You don't have to, unless you want to. I have seen your face, and it does not frighten me," I whispered softly.

He raised his head and glared at me malevolently, "How very brave of you," he spat, "how noble."

"I didn't mean to offend you," I said, frowning, "I have been here for a year and a half. I've seen you countless times in the courtyard. I almost feel as if I know you."

"No," he said emphatically, "you do not know me. No one knows me."

I moved my hand from the mask to his hair, and to my surprise he pitched his head back in apparent delight over my touch. I could make out his jaw clenching beneath the mask, the convulsive movement of his adam's apple, and sudden soft groan in his throat. The noise sent a nervous flutter through my stomach, and I felt the hair on my body stand up in response. He lowered his head, causing my fingers to slide from the front of his hair to his neck. It was a long time before he finally met my eyes. When he did, I caught my breath at the feral gleam in them, at the raw and unhidden desire that possessed him. I knew then that I would be his first, and he mine. The power that he commanded over everyone left him, and for that night I knew that he would truly be humbled by me.

"Tonight?" I pleaded softly, watching another piece of kindling light in his green eyes.

"Tonight," he agreed.


	5. The Age of Innocence

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

He changed his mind more than a dozen times. I felt like at any time he would turn and bolt for the door, instead of leading me into the darkened interior of his bedroom. He wouldn't meet my eyes, and he sat on the edge of the bed for nearly ten minutes before we spoke.

"Are you certain?" he asked again, and I could hear in his voice a slight excitement, and utter dread.

"There is no other choice. I would rather it be you than one of them anyway. Not that I will ever have that option," I replied steadily.

My answer surprised him, and I wondered if he believed that I only loathed the Persians slightly more than I did him. Actually, I did not despise him at all. I admired him. Not for his deadly skills, but for everything else about him that no one else possessed. No one had ever stood up to the khanum like he did. He was a unique and rare individual, and I believed that the world was a better place with him in it. Servants whisper, and I have also heard about his generosity with his men, as well as an unlikely bond with Nadir Khan, the Daroga of Mazanderan.

"You may change your mind at any time," he said simply, "even once it has begun."

I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath, trying to remember what I had been taught.

_Men like slow seduction. Please them, compliment them, and they shall be yours._

I moved towards him suddenly and placed my hands on his shoulders. He looked terrified when I was so near him, and for a moment I thought he would shove me forcefully away. I had no idea what compliment to pay this strange man. He was unlike any other person I had ever met before. An odd mixture of innocence and devilry.

Please him? I was hardly sure how, although I knew the basics of the act. I had been given thorough instructions, with the promise of more if I was successful.

"This is wrong," he muttered, "it shouldn't be like this. Never this."

"Shh," I murmured, running a trembling hand up his neck, "we can make the most of it. I am hardly reluctant. I never expected to be allowed a choice, and I could have refused you if I thought it was so terrible."

"Your death would have been the alternate...," he paused, "...what is your name anyway?"

"Laure."

He repeated my name in that low and golden voice of his, causing me to close my eyes in pure wonder. He looked up and saw me smiling, and said it again wonderingly. I realized quite suddenly that I would be unable to kiss him. It caused a strange and hurtful lurch in my stomach, and I wished I had never told him the mask could remain. It was hardly fair for me to ask him about it now.

With a gentle shyness, he stood up, pushing me away from him a few inches. His long fingers reached out slowly and pulled a strand of dark brown hair from beneath the silk hijab, then pushed it from my head altogether. The feel of that scarcely felt caress touched me in a deeper way than he knew. I hadn't realized how very tall he was, nearly towering over me a foot or more. I was staring directly at his chest, at the rich tapestry that made up his robe. He was graceful without even trying to be. With a nervousness unparalleled to anything else I have ever known, I closed the brief distance between us, and captured his hand in mine. I pressed a brief kiss to the back of his hand, closing my eyes at the thrill of excitement that surged through me. I knew there was never a moment more charged than that one.

It was ultimately up to him.

"Laure," he said my name again quietly, and from those lips it was the most beautiful sound in the world.

"Erik," I returned easily, then pressed another kiss upon his hand.

"Don't-" he said tightly, "don't do that again. If we continue-you have to promise me."

I looked up into his solemn eyes and swore that I would try. I didn't understand, and yet I did. There was nothing I wanted more though, than to feel his lips on mine for one brief time. It would have been my first kiss as well.

I tugged at a silk strand on my sash like bodice, then drew it carefully off my shoulders. There had been no hiding anything anyway. Everything was perfectly visible through the fabric, and had been from the moment the women had dressed me this evening. My body was lightly sprayed with scented oil, I had been razed and plucked of every bit of hair on my body, quite painful in fact, and been pampered like the wives of the shah for the last two days. It was not nearly as nice as it sounded.

He watched with an intent fascination as I removed the rest of my clothing. It was when I removed the very last article, a tiny scrap of fabric that hid the most private place I possessed, that he blanched.

"You aren't even...," he choked angrily, "you haven't even reached puberty!"

My eyes widened in shock, "What are you talking about? Of course I have."

"No hair...," he muttered, looking down at me in horror.

I snatched my sash from the floor and covered myself with as much of it as I could.

"They removed it! Damn it, why won't you just get this over with?" I shouted angrily, and I watched as he went from impassive to furious. Erik's temper was something to behold!

"Mad, insane, heartless woman," he bellowed, and I realized he wasn't talking about me.

In fury he managed to break everything in the room, including the door, which he kicked viciously several times before it splintered through to the living area. I watched him in awe and fear, hearing his curses, his cries of outrage, then finally a pained sob. He knelt in the middle of the doorway, struggling to catch his breath, to regain his composure, and failing miserably. He cried, curling into the shadows of a corner as he finally gave in to the emotion and despair that choked him. I moved hesitantly toward him, and he snarled in his misery like a chained animal.

"Go away. Go back," he raged, "I don't care what befalls you. I will not simply, 'get it over with', with you, or any other_ girl. _Leave me!"

I moved away from him, towards the bed and ignored his edict. He would have to remove me with bodily force if he wanted me to leave.

"I didn't mean it like that," I whispered tremulously, "I'm terribly sorry. I have never been so nervous in my entire life. Not even when I was kidnapped. You unnerve me, Erik."

The frustrated growls continued for several moments, before he finally lifted his head and regarded me from the shadows.

"It is my fault you are here. Did you know that?" he asked harshly, "She does this to punish me. Because I refused Aysel. She was not willing, and I would not take anything less."

I hadn't known this. I had merely known that she would not remove his mask, and he had tired of her childishness.

"I _am_ willing."

Those three words seemed to seal my fate. Sexual tension charged the air then, and I released the sash I had been holding against my body. He stood slowly and approached the bed warily. His eyes gleamed behind the pale mask, green and bright and full of life. He caught my jaw with a shaking hand, and for a moment I thought he would lean in and kiss me. Of course that was impossible, with the mask. Instead he pulled me to my feet with the merest hint of pressure against my neck, and tilted my head back with a long and slender thumb. Anticipation snaked up my spine, but he merely grasped my arms in his, slowly letting them slide to my wrists. I expected him to lace my fingers with his, but at the last moment he changed his mind and his hands reversed direction, going back up my arms. It seemed that kissing and hand holding were far too personal for him.

With slow and plodding efficiency, I pulled at the tie that held his robe together and parted it, revealing a lithe and corded body beneath the exotic garment. He stopped breathing as I touched his stomach, my fingers moving silently up to his chest. I rested my hand over his heart a moment, and he made a strangled sound in his throat. I looked into his eyes and saw abject misery and despair. I knew he needed confidence far more than I did.

"I am willing," I repeated softly, "and I ask that you forget everything else. This could be quite memorable, if you would only let it."

"Laure, I am the last man you should wish to surrender to."

"You don't know what I wish," I said calmly, and ran my hand back up his torso, then slid my palm around his waist. He excited me in a way that I cannot describe. He was the most reluctant man I had ever heard of, yet he only held my arms and I felt his sensuality.

With deliberate gentleness, his hand moved across my bare back, sliding across the skin as tenderly and delicately as the touch of a butterfly. The sensations rippling through me had nothing to do with the supply of aphrodisiacs the harem had supplied me with the last two days. Surely there was no such thing as artificial pleasure! It was a sin!

I don't know if I stepped closer, or if he guided me, but somehow my breasts contacted his chest, and he started a violent and tremendous shaking throughout his entire body. Alarmed, I stepped closer and wrapped my arms firmly around him, and in that moment I lost my nervousness, and he lost his ability to refrain any longer from what he so obviously wanted.

The moments that followed were a haze of feelings and sensations that I know will forever be unequaled. He was gentle and ferocious in the same instant, commanding me and following me in the same heartbeat. Guided by forces unknown and unquestioned, we joined together that night in a fiery and untempered blaze, restrained only by the fact that never once did our lips caresses the others' flesh in a way that surely would have consumed us both. I hated the fact that I was not able to witness his pleasure, and he could see all of mine. I could only stare up into his feral eyes when he relinquished himself to me. I could onlysee the pale mask, mocking me in thecold and austere way that defined him. In that moment of glory we created Nicolas, the son that never should have been for Erik, and the most precious gift I would ever receive.


	6. A New Beginning

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

My romantic and foolish notions should have been doused the moment he leapt from his bed in sudden aggravation. It seemed he could not persuade me to dress quickly enough, and when I had completed the miserable ensemble he would not look at me. I wanted to lie back down with him, and revel in my newfound womanhood. But the moment our breathing had slowed, and I had stretched languidly against him, he abandoned me for the shadows of the room, pulling his clothing on with sharp and jerky movements.

"I don't understand," I said pathetically, "why can't I stay? I don't want to go back there."

"Foolish little child!" he snapped angrily, trying to get me away from him with a desperation I did not comprehend.

He avoided even my eyes as he spoke, and with a ragged sigh produced a long billowing cloak for me to cover myself with. I accepted it with astonished gratefulness, securing it around me with welcoming modesty and reservation.

"Please, Erik," I whispered, "she's going to kill you. Take me away from here when you leave. Let me stay. It can always be like this. I will do anything you ask of me."

"You do this only to save yourself," he muttered coldly, and I could not contradict him.

Yes, I had given him myself. Completely, and he would not know how much. Neither would I, not for awhile anyway. But I also felt a deep and insistent pull toward him. He was familiar, of my culture, although he would not have fit into the society of France by any means. I wanted more than just tonight. I wanted his protection, his shield against the khanum. I feared returning there far more than anything I would receive from him.

"I would do anything to please you," I rasped, "Anything. Not only what we have done tonight, but in any way you desire. I would be obedient and faithful..."

"Enough!" he barked, "I am not leaving here! Not until the palace is built, so you can just go back and live your triumphant little life in the harem. You will have a pleasant life there."

"I have no value there now," I said venomously, "I have nothing."

He threw his hands up in an impatient gesture, and I knew that no matter what I said his mind would not be changed. He believed that I had only used him to save my life. He was right, but I had enjoyed it. Thoroughly, and I knew that he had too.

I was escorted back to the harem, under the protective veil of night and two guards, and was met immediately by the khanum. Her victorious smile transcended all evil.

"So, you return early. Although not as early as Aysel. Did the morbid creature actually _take_ you?" she asked excitably, "Did you enjoy it?"

I flushed a crimson red, and was unable to stop a slow smile that spread upon my face.

It was a mistake, and I knew it the moment my lips turned upward. But they would not be denied, and in that moment of brief defiance I condemned myself, and Erik as well.

The slate board slammed into my face from the darkness, rendering me nearly blind for a moment as I sprawled onto the ground. She kicked me numerous times in the ribs, and along my back, until I merely grunted from the pain instead of crying out. I lay bleeding on the floor as she spat upon my face.

"We will see if you can smile after tomorrow, infidel! We will see if you can withstand your virile lovers' little room. How shining will his triumph be then?"

I heard her slippered feet scratching across the courtyard in a light and airy step. I barely remember gathering myself up off the floor and making my way to my room. Hidden beneath the ledge of the outside of my window I withdrew all the coins I had earned by spying on Erik. I pressed them into the hands of Oman, the eunuch who had the other half of my profits, instructing him to take the message to Erik or Nadir, whoever he could find first. I collapsed upon the bed in pain and misery, wondering how my night could have gone from the height of passion, to the bowels of hell. I could only hope Erik cared enough to find a way to save me. Knowing the tight security in the harem, I doubted even he would be skilled enough to master such a feat.

I should have known better even then.

* * *

I woke up to his hand slipping across my bloodied lips, and I winced in pain. My eyes found his in the darkness, and he slowly moved his hand, beckoning me to be silent. I nodded, wide eyed, and stared at the mask in fascination. What could he possibly do? I was literally under lock and key. He brushed a finger over my lips again, seeming to apologize for turning me out. He held out his hand to me, and I struggled to sit upright. I hadn't even been able to change my clothes, and he couldn't find anything that suited him in my small bureau. Impatiently he tugged the cloak around me and picked me up effortlessly, carrying me through the silent halls of the harem and through an entrance at the end of the portico I had not known existed. We came out so close to the shah's personal quarters I buried my face in his neck in fear of being caught. It was unnecessary, because in moments he was back in his room, riffling through his own closet for something for me to wear. 

Eventually he found a pair of black trousers and sheered them off to a suitable length, then placed a dark shirt on me, and covered me up with a black cloak, hiding my hair and all of my womanly features. From somewhere he produced a pair of odd looking sandals that fit me perfectly, and then I was carried with the same determined stealth out of the walls of the city, from several more tunnels that I don't think he was supposed to know about. Oman was waiting there, along with a pained looking Nadir.

"Can you ride?" he asked quietly, setting me onto the back of a sturdy and nervous Teke horse.

I stared down at him with a sense of sadness and grief, knowing we wouldn't see each other again.

"I know _how_. Physically is another issue," I said wryly.

"Don't stop until you reach Rasht. If you wish to return home, you _must not stop_. If they catch you...," his tone told me exactly what would happen, "...you will not be shown mercy, and it will not be quick."

"Erik," I began tearfully, but he silenced me with a touch of his finger to my lips. I pressed a kiss to his finger, and it lingered there for several moments, until I could not stop myself from doing it again.

"You must leave," he said thickly, "you must."

"Corsica," I whispered the word to him, "I am returning to Corsica, in Ajaccio. If you are ever...if you ever want to see me, that is where I will be."

"Ajaccio," he repeated dutifully, but I knew that this was the end of our brief acquaintance. I smiled at him tenderly, and without asking I removed his mask, just once wanting to gaze upon his face in closeness. He did not blink as I did so, or even look angry, just gave me the distant and blank stare that enters his eyes when he is unmasked.

"You're a good man. I will never forget you," I managed to say, and ran a hand across his right cheek.

He closed his eyes for a moment, then whispered, "Hang on."

With that, he slapped the horse fiercely across the rump, sending me off with all the eagerness that I had in leaving his apartment earlier that evening. The horses raced silently across the desert, the saddle bags filled with money, water, and food. We never were seen during our reckless ride into Rasht, arriving three days later, and were soon swallowed up by the incredibly busy bizarres and insane madness of the city.

Our journey to Corsica was a long and arduous one, hampered by terrible weather, delayed ships, and my incredibly odd aversion to traveling by water. It was only after a few days on land that I realized that it wasn't sea sickness at all. I was pregnant, and I had just turned sixteen. My life was going to get more difficult before it got better.

To say that my parents were happy to see me is an understatement. They fell to their knees at once when they opened the door to see their daughter had come home. Papa had insisted that pirates had taken me and killed Pascal, but the police found no evidence, and maritime law was evasive. Everyone had forgotten about me, except my parents.

It had been two years since my abduction, and I was six months along by the time I returned. Hardly the way to win people over, but it hadn't bothered my parents in the least, especially my father. Once he had finally pried my story from me, he had been relieved that I had not been defiled by pirates or the heathens of the continent beyond our waters. I told him in specific detail what Erik had been, what he was, and what he never could be. I had cried miserably, feeling the sting of young love again, and miserable because I had no idea what to do with a small child.

The moment they laid my son against me I had known my purpose. If only I had his father there, my life would have been complete.

Instead, I cradled my newborn against me and whispered lovingly, "Hello, Erik Nicolas. Welcome to the world."


	7. Hallucinated, or Real?

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I sat in my self imposed prison, on my throne like a king waiting for his dutiful servant to return. Nadir had been gone for weeks, and I was beginning to worry that he wouldn't return. He should have come by, at the very least to make sure I wasn't dead. I knew that he had left Paris, but he refused to tell me where he was going. I assumed it was to meet a lady friend, and wisely had not pressed the issue. He wasn't a pleasant person to be around when he was aggravated.

The misery of my foiled attempt at seduction and the forced marriage with Christine had left a bitter taste in my mouth. I felt empty, sapped of all hope and energy, and knew that I should have found the courage to end my life that tragic night nearly five months ago. It had been my own foolishness that caused the disaster, both of my life and the theater. Wearily I rested my head against the elaborate chair, wishing I had allowed Chagny to plunge the blade of his sword into my gut. Then it would have been his sin, not mine.

For seven years I have been the_ Opera_ Ghost, but I have been a ghost my entire life. My mother had been convinced that I was something unworldly, even though she had labored for hours to bring me into the world. The night they performed the exorcism on me, in attempt to remove the demons from my body, I had become something more than a human. The demons did exist inside me, and were so firmly entrenched on my soul that they took possession more often these days than not. That can be the only excuse I give for my madness and senseless pursuit of Christine.

I think my time in Persia warped me far more than I ever realized. There are only three pleasant things I can recall during my time there. Nadir and Reza, his son. And the third...well that wasn't real. I decided long ago that the memory I had of an unusual and heated night, had been purely imagined. I must have smoked far more opium than I realized, because it was impossible. It wouldn't have been the first time I had smoked myself into ecstasy.

Still, if it wasn't real...why would Nadir have ever mentioned her name?

Why would I have gone in search of her?

_Laure._

There have been times when I imagined that I had actually felt those arms around me, when I had believed that she had been real, and not another figment of my imagination. And there had been many illusions in my mind. Nightmares and falsehoods, foolish and deliberate ignorance of what was right and wrong. Of what was proper.

I turned my back on the world when I created this little home of mine, and had seldom regretted it, until I heard Christine. Her voice beckoned me, called to me, and touched me in a profound way. I thought I wore an impervious shield, and that no one and nothing could ever penetrate the cloud of bitterness and resignation that I wore. I was terribly wrong.

I was twenty three when I came here to finish the last five years of work on the theater, changing things after the other workers had left, creating trap doors and secret passageways out of boredom and a burning desire to leave my mark on something that wasn't mine. And yet it _was_ mine. Charles Garnier may have designed this theater, but I changed its course. I created a home within it that only fools would dare venture into. For the first six years, I was the only fool.

"Erik?"

I barely glanced up as I heard Nadir step through the empty mirror frame. I hadn't heard him coming, but I no longer cared about being in danger, so I had let all of the precaution and attentive listening go. What did I care if they found me? I was dead already, and I had been for most of my life.

"I'm here," I replied sarcastically, as if there was anywhere else I should have been.

He looked up the steps towards me, and I noted that his face was strained. He looked like he had swallowed a bird. I knew that he hated this place I called home. He thought it was morbid and wrong. He had told me that men shouldn't live beneath the ground like moles. I told him I wasn't a man, I was a ghost.

"What took you so long?" I demanded.

"I had to travel for a great distance."

"Persia?" I sneered, knowing he wouldn't have returned if he had gone there. He would have been executed.

He eyed me warily, and I wondered why he looked so frightened. I had lost all my power, all my control after the fire. I was barely able to summon the strength to move from my chair. I had barely eaten, I hadn't written or played a note of music, and I had not ventured one step farther than the confines of my home. I was prepared to die here, if only Death would be so kind as to take me.

"Corsica," he said, bowing his head.

The utter silence in the room was deafening. I had warned him never to speak of that place again! I had warned him!

"Why," I whispered in a deadly voice, "would you go there, Nadir?"

"To see Laure," he returned quietly, "and to see your son."

I laughed suddenly, "I think you are even more delusional than I am. What in God's name are you talking about?"

The reluctance he portrayed sent a snake of terror crawling through me.

"Nadir, what are you talking about?" I demanded.

"You have a son. In Corsica. I've known about him for ten years," he replied, finally looking me in the eyes.

I felt nothing but disbelief at this point. It wasn't possible. I didn't have a son, and Laure wasn't real. She had been a delusional fantasy, a trick that the khanum had wanted me to believe, and had then plucked away my shaken certainty with cruel and careless words. She told me she had given me a hallucinogen, and I had gratefully believed her. It was the only other explanation for that bizarre memory.

"Cease this madness, Nadir. I am tired of your pointless games. Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of. Just leave me," I said tiredly.

"You have a son," he repeated firmly, "Erik, I was there the night you sent her off on horseback. I was the one who told you what the khanum was planning. Don't you remember any of this?"

I shook my head, trying to clear out the distant image of a blurry face against a Persian night sky. My hand burned as I recalled a hazy sensation of a kiss pressed against it. I clenched it into a ball, trying to rid myself of the sensation.

"Madness," I muttered, "you're insane, Nadir. You're trying to take me with you."

"His name is Erik Nicolas Sagesse. Laure named him after you."

"No," I said hoarsely, "It's not possible."

"I've never lied to you," he said softly.

But he had. Apparently for the last five years, he had kept a secret from me, something so devastating and urgent that I was surprised I had not wrapped my hands around his neck. Cold icy fear sank into my gut, like an iron anchor that had been in the cruel bitter sea for a thousand years. I felt chilled throughout my body, as the knowledge that had been kept from me sank in. I felt like an imbecile. How was it possible, with my magnanimous mind, to miss something so important as a son? I had been in utter disbelief of that night, and still could not grasp the reality of the transparent and vague memories.

_'Save me, Erik.'_

That voice had whispered those words in my mind for fifteen years.

_'I am willing.'_

I closed my eyes, and suddenly I could see her. She had been far too young, far too innocent to stand beside me, let alone be forced into whatcan only called sheer depravity. Far too beautiful to have to suffer the fate at my hands. I can't remember another time when I had been more terrified. It was the reason I so readily accepted the khanums' ludicrous story. I have never wanted to believe that I had taken such a young girl, and that she had seemed so ready for me.

_'I have prepared myself for you.'_

So perfect, in every way. My gut clenched as I remembered the surging drive over the edge, and I had catapulted across the boundary between boy and man, in a way that I had never before experienced.

_Tonight._

"Tonight?" Nadir repeated, interrupting my thoughts.

Had I actually spoken the word?

"Tonight," I confirmed with a breathless voice, "we leave for Corsica tonight."

* * *

We avoided each other's eyes across the car of the PLM railway train. We would travel from Paris to Lyon, then from Lyon to Marseilles, then somehow we would be boarding a ship bound toward Corsica. Normally I hate train travel, but I was too weary to deal with a ride by horseback all the way to Marseilles. It would take twice as long, and I was anxious for the trip to be over, while at the same time I dreaded it far more than I should have. 

I was going to meet my son, not my Maker, although at times I have embraced the idea of dying. Nadir seemed to be relieved that I had not erupted, but I was still in a state of shock. I only felt the barest glimmer of anger and aggravation at the man who had kept something from me. Who should have known better than to be deceitful towards me. A faint insistent voice whispered that he had been right in keeping the secret. I didn't deserve to have a son. I was not fit to be a father.

"Tell me about him," I rasped, looking out at the passing countryside. We had just passed through Orleans, and it would be a long and eventless journey to the coast of France. I liked eventless. It was something I had become remarkably good at the last few months.

"His grandfather is a ship builder. He's picked up the trade quite well. Nicolas dotes on his mother and grandparents, and is always quick with a smile or a joke. I've never seen him angry, but Laure has said that he resembles you in that regard," he said easily, "he looks like you in every regard, actually."

I turned around to face him, grimacing painfully, "He looks like me?"

"He doesn't need a mask, if that's what you think. He's perfectly formed," he said quickly, "and quite the charmer. Laure says it will be a miracle if half the girls on the island haven't fallen in love with him already."

"Does he know about me?"

"She told him everything he needed to know," he said softly, then turned his attention back to the window.

What the hell did that mean? I stared at him stonily for several moments, until he finally sighed and continued.

"She told him about the conditions of his conception, about the khanum, about you. She painted him a portrait of you, wearing your mask and Persian robes. Laure has been fair to you. She wanted you to find them, and was furious when you never did. I found _them_ ten years ago, and I found _you_ five years ago," he sighed regretfully, "I have kept in contact with her. I thought she deserved to know about Paris."

"You've been a wonderful little conscience," I snarled, sinking back against the cushions, "I'm sure my son is going to be thrilled to meet his father. He probably thinks I belong in an institution."

"She hasn't told him anything about Paris. He stopped asking after awhile."

I turned my face away from his, wishing suddenly I had the full mask again. I didn't want him to see anything in my expression. I felt incredibly close to killing him, and somehow refrained as I have done many times in the past. Nadir has a way of subduing me and enraging me in the same moment. He is my friend, and yet he is not.

He is my conscience.

"You did this because of Reza," I accused quietly.

"Do not mention my son again. He has nothing to do with my decisions."

* * *

Well...I have yet to hear what you think! More reviews! 


	8. The Son

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

"I don't want to see him!" Nicolas shouted again, for the hundredth time.

My father and I stared at each other in mute fascination. Where had my level headed son gone? When had he been replaced by this vulgar little monster that I woke up to each morning? I closed my eyes and nodded my head to my father. The disrespect and disobedience had gone on long enough. My father was going to implement his rare and swift law into my household, and it would be unforgiving and unbending. There has seldom been a a time when I have needed my fathers' hand to swat Nicolas into submission. I have seen the gentle pats he gives my son on his backside, and it hurts my father far more than it does Nicolas.

It has been many years since my father had to resort to something like that. He found an even greater weakness where my son is concerned. His love of the ship building industry. Only one other time has this punishment been enforced, and we had been rewarded by my son stepping quickly back into the role of the kind and caring boy that he usually was.

"Nicolas, if you don't control yourself, I'm afraid I'll have to relieve you of your duties at the docks. I won't have you treating your mother this way," my father said firmly.

He was met with a cold and unfeeling glare from Nicolas, who then turned his eyes upon me. I cringed at the sheer anger that I saw there.

"You brought this on yourself. You _will _meet your father. You _will _be civil to him, and allow him to explain himself. You still live under my roof...,"

"That can be changed."

I felt the blood drain from my face.

"Nicolas, for God's sake, please! I'm your mother," I whispered tearfully, "I love you."

"If you loved me, you wouldn't have told him about me."

"He's your father," I said softly.

"I don't have a father," he muttered, and left us standing in the library.

I turned to give my father a helpless look, and he wrapped his arms around my shoulders in reassurance. I was grateful as always for his support. I don't know what I would have done all these years if he hadn't been there. I was in unfamiliar territory with my son. We had never been at odds over something so serious. The only other time we had argued in detail had been over him traveling. He wanted to see the world at thirteen, and I had pronounced that he was far too young for anything like that. We had compromised by him taking trips with my father to various port cities. He had seen nearly every port between here and Istanbul under the watchful eye of my father. So far he had been satisfied to stay in the confines of the Mediterranean and surrounding seas. I knew that one day though, my little boy would be gone. He wanted to conquer the world.

I had made him promise me he would leave Persia alone.

Returning to this island had been difficult at first. The people who used to greet me everyday, all my friends and neighbors, could no longer look me in the eyes. I was whispered about, cruelly joked of, and ridiculed. My son had escaped the scorn, because I made up an elaborate lie for the entire city of Ajaccio. I told them that I had not been kidnapped by pirates, but that I had ran away with a secret lover and married him in Marseilles, where I had lived the past year. It didn't stop the whispers about me, but it protected my son, and that was all that mattered.

My husband was an architect and was traveling the world building beautiful palaces. I didn't dare examine the parallels that it tracked with Eriks' life. I had told a partial lie. I could have been his wife instead of his odalisque gift. I would have married him, if he had ever bothered to find me. After Paris though, my thoughts on the man had changed a great deal. I felt like everything I knew about him was an illusion. He was skilled at making them, and I wondered if I had been fooled by the master of deception.

"He'll come around," Papa whispered against my hair, "he'll change his mind."

"He's Erik in every way imaginable. He won't change his mind. He won't."

"Every son need a father. He will come around," he said reassuringly.

Deep in my heart I prayed he was right. I knew that the road ahead was going to be rough, and Erik hadn't even arrived yet.

* * *

"Madame Sagesse," Oman knocked politely on the studio door.

I glanced up into his stoic face. I have no idea what has possessed him to remain with me all these years, but he has stuck to my side with a quiet tenacity that has surprised me many times. I had told him repeatedly years before that he was free, but I'm still not certain if he ever understood. He had learned the French language with a dutiful patience that astounded me, and had assumed the position of my servant when I had never asked.

"Yes, Oman?"

"The gentlemen you have been expecting are here," he said calmly.

I felt my palette slip from my hands and slid unceremoniously onto my lap. Naturally it landed color down onto my dress, and I stared at my garment in detachment. I felt my nerves spring to life inside of me, and wind tightly around my heart. I thought the raw endings were going to sizzle my heart, and I fought for breath suddenly. I had expected them, but not so soon. Especially not after my row with Nicolas.

"Shall I show them into the library?"

I think I nodded, but I cannot be certain. Oman disappeared from my sight, and with a sudden burst of panic I threw the palette from my lap onto the floor. I stormed from my studio across the upstairs balcony, keeping away from the open space where I could be seen by my guests. The maid cleaning my room glanced up in surprise as I burst through my bedroom door and ordered her to remove my gown.

"Yes, Madame," she said kindly, tugging at the row of buttons along the back. I stepped out of the paint soaked garment and strode to my armoire. There was nothing more humiliating than being caught unprepared for guests. Especially these guests.

I slipped into a clean dress and had the maid tidy my hair up. I looked at myself in the mirror for a moment, suddenly nervous about what Erik would see. If he would care what I looked like, or if the memory of Christine Daae was still too fresh in his mind. I wasn't young anymore. I was thirty years old, unmarried (legally of course), and on my way to becoming a woman with an empty nest and no man in her life except her doting father.

I have been approached by men in the past, who haven't cared or haven't believed that I was married. At least twice in the past fifteen years I have made a trip north to Bastia, where I have led certain people to believe that I was meeting my husband for a brief reunion. I have vowed never to leave Corsica again.

I sat at my bureau for as long as I dared. The last thing I needed was for Nicolas to confront his father before I had a chance to speak with him. And if I waited much longer, Erik was probably going to lose his temper. What a terrible thing for him to lose, indeed!

I finally made my way down to the library on trembling knees, wishing my father were here, instead of down at the docks. The door to the library was closed, and when I finally was able to open it, I was greeted with absolute darkness.

"Close the door behind you," I heard that familiar and not forgotten voice command me.

I obeyed immediately, stepping inside the dark room.

"Nadir?" I called uncertainly, praying I wasn't in here alone with him.

"I'm here," he said quietly from across the room.

I turned in the direction of his voice, but could see nothing. I waited patiently for Erik to tire of this game, or to speak with me.

"Laure," he whispered, and I felt my heart warm at the seductive tone.

"May I turn on a lamp?" I asked slowly.

A brief silence then, "Of course."

I groped my way towards the desk and fumbled with the glass case, finally illuminating the room in a dim and pleasant glow. I turned around fully, and still could not see him, although Nadir was sitting casually in one of the chairs near the mantel. I turned back to Nadir to give him a look, but he appeared to also be searching for Erik's form.

"I hope I find you well, Madame Sagesse," Erik murmured, and I turned around to find him standing no more than a foot away from me.

I shrank back against the desk, shocked at his sudden appearance, and the imposing way he was dressed. In all black, from shoulder to toe, with a white mask covering only half of his face. I hadn't been expecting his face, and it was unfamiliar and frightening. The scowl across his features seemed to be set into each side, the right and the left, and I could make out his lips beneath the curve of the mask's edge. This was not the twenty year old man I had been picturing all these years. Erik would be thirty five by now, and I found no semblance of the man who had been a secret and cherished memory of mine for the last fifteen years. I had indeed made a bargain with the Phantom, before he ever assumed the name. Now he was here in my home, a father to my reluctant son, and I had no idea what to say to him.

"It seems we had reason to meet up again after all," he said quietly.

I flushed and looked away at his suggestive tone. It was ringed in a controlled, repressed seduction that I had felt every time I recalled his voice. He was staring at me with an intensity that was making me uncomfortable, and I felt as if time had somehow slipped away, and I was looking at the wary and reluctant lover I had taken at the khanums' orders.

"Is he here?" he asked gently, in a tone I have never heard Erik use before. It was a self conscious and hesitant tone that told me how nervous and afraid he really was. The nervous gesture comforted me, and I relaxed at little in his presence.

"No. We had an argument, and he stormed out of here. I wouldn't expect him back anytime soon," I said softly.

"You quarreled?" he asked, "May I ask why?"

I hesitated a moment too long, and he suddenly bunched his shoulders together, "I see. He doesn't want to meet me."

"He's very confused. He doesn't understand, and I can't explain anything to him anymore," I said softly.

"So you told him about Paris?" he bit out, and I cringed.

"He stole Nadir's letters. He's known for about two years now. I had no idea, until I told him about you last month," I said haltingly, afraid to even mention my thoughts on his actions in that city.

"He is a thief?"

I shook my head, "No. Of course not. But he knew I was hiding something, and he...,"

"Stole from you?" he supplied.

"My son is not a thief!" I snapped, "He's just confused."

He grunted at me and moved away, going to stand near Nadir and the mantle.

"I can't blame him for not wanting to have anything to do with me," he sighed heavily, tracing a gloved hand across the ornate mantle. I stared at the smooth lines of his fingers, the graceful bearing of his entire body. He was broader than I remembered, but everything else about him remained the same. He was still arrogant, still full of pride, and still very much the vulnerable man I had given myself to.

He turned to face me with a grave and serious tone, "I can't blame him," he repeated, "but I will not be denied my rights. I have come to claim my son."


	9. Beyond Comparison

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I watched all the color leave her face at my statement. She leaned back onto the massive desk behind her for support, clenching her knuckles around the edge as if it would give her the strength she needed. It had been a shock seeing her, but my first reaction had been one of blankness. I didn't know this woman. Or did I? There was a faint resemblance to the young girl that I had known fifteen years ago, but this _woman_ was far beyond what I expected. She had a warm and caring face that looked as if it normally was lit up by an endless smile, and eyes that betrayed everything she was feeling. Blue-gray in color, with green slashes streaking toward the pupil, they were wide and fringed by thick dark lashes. There was no trace of young fifteen year old Laure. She was a full grown woman, and the way she was staring at me, I think she may have been part lioness.

"You can't have my son," she whispered, "I won't let you take him."

I had no intention of taking him, but I couldn't help baiting her to see her response, "You've had him for fifteen years. I think the boy might like to see some of the world."

"And you think you can show him?" she demanded, "He's seen enough of the world already. I only have a couple of years left with him before he takes off on his own! You aren't taking him now!"

I snorted, "He's seen enough of the world? What, everywhere between here and Cargese?"

"He's traveled with my father to every port between Barcelona and Istanbul. He isn't ignorant. He's had a tutor for most of his life, and has learned to do quite well without you. He has his own interests, Erik, and I don't think you could persuade him to leave anyway," she paused, "least of all with you."

I stiffened at the insult, "Because he hates me?"

"My son does not hate," she said quietly, "that is something I will not allow."

She wouldn't allow it? How does one stop hate? It is an all consuming and desperate emotion that chokes all other thoughts from your mind. There is nothing that can stop hate, because once its' seed is planted, it mutates into something else equally unstoppable: rage.

"Where is he?"

She sighed raggedly and ran a hand through her hair. I watched the gesture with careful fascination, spying something odd streaking through the dark locks.

"He is probably in the cove. He knows how much I hate it when he goes down there."

"Cove?" I prodded.

"Where I was...," she trailed off, a distant look entering her eyes, "...it's on the other side of my fathers house," she looked back to me, "he doesn't like to be disturbed when he goes down there. He goes down there to play."

"Play? Music?" I asked quickly.

She nodded slowly, "He won't let anyone listen to him. If you bother him while he's there, he probably won't ever speak to you."

"He won't let anyone hear him play? Why? Is he terrible?" I asked mockingly.

"No. He's wonderful. He used to play for us all the time, but for some reason...," she looked down at the floor, "...he just stopped. He would get angry if we asked him to play."

"What did you tell him about me?" I asked hesitantly, moving towards the chair opposite from Nadir.

"I told him enough. I didn't tell him everything about your other...position in Mazanderan. Just that you were an architect for the shah, and that you were presented with a...gift," she said softly, turning away from me suddenly, "everything else he knows, he read in Nadirs' letters."

I gave Nadir a malevolent look, promising him silently that we would have this out, one way or another. Now that I was here, and my fears had been confirmed, I was barely controlling the fury inside me. It had resurfaced vehemently, and I felt all the old pain of Christine, the nightmare of Persia, of my entire miserable life weighing down on me all at once. The betrayal by Nadir was going to break me. If I couldn't redeem myself for Nicolas, I would be forever grasping at the straw of hope, which I thought I had given up on a long, long time ago.

"What about...?" I ran my hand across my face, looking down at my knees.

"He knows as much as I do. I haven't lied to him, Erik, but I haven't told him everything either. There are some things that just don't need to be repeated," she said firmly, trying to catch my eye.

I understood her subtle statement. She wanted to protect him. From me.

In an unconscious gesture, I traced my fingers along the the scar on the back of my right hand. Yes, there are some things that don't need to be repeated. The shah had not been able to punish me for freeing Laure, but the khanum had no problems with it. Nadirs' eyes met mine, and I knew he was thinking the same thing.

My thoughts were scattered as the front door flew open and I heard someone calling from the hallway. I leaned up expectantly as the figure strode into the library, hoping that it would be Nicolas.

"Laure," an older mans' voice called.

I tensed, darting a look at Nadir. I had forgotten that she was now married, but the old man who strode through the door couldn't have been her husband.

"Papa, we're in the library," she tossed over her shoulder, sending me a warning look.

Nadir and I stood abruptly as the aging man came forward, and I was surprised that he barely batted an eye at my appearance. He either already knew about me, he was blind, or he didn't care that his daughter was secluded in a library with a foreigner and a strange looking man.

"You must be Erik," he said heartily, reaching out to shake my hand, "I'm Vincent Bourne."

With another fierce look from Laure, I reciprocated, meeting the kind weathered eyes with a grim smile, "Vincent Bourne?" I repeated slowly, "You are a shipwright?"

His eyebrows rose, but he nodded eagerly, "Of course! You've heard of me?"

Who hadn't? He was the most sought after shipwright in France, or he had been before I burrowed my head under the ground like a rabbit.

"Yes, you are well known in any industry. Shipbuilding, merchant trade, military naval strategy. You built the ship that brought Napoleon back to France," I replied.

"Bah!" he scowled, "They should have used my ship for something better, like defeating the British! My beautiful ship has been decommissioned! Can you believe that?"

I agreed with him quickly, although the only thing I had known about _Belle Poule_ was that she had carried the ashes of Napoleon home from his exile on Saint Helena.

"Where is Nicolas?" he demanded, turning around to Laure.

"He hasn't returned. I'm sure he's down by the cove."

He sighed heavily, and turned around to Laure, "Well, I guess he hasn't learned anything. Do you think I should really punish him for this, Laure? He's not a boy anymore."

"Punish?" I asked slowly, "You are...punishing him...for refusing to meet me?"

"And for being a little tyrant to his mother. I've had all I can take of his temper, and he needs to be taught a lesson," he said waspishly.

"You lay a hand on him, and you will answer to me," I said quietly, rising slowly from my chair. "He won't be punished for anything concerning me."

He chuckled nervously, "I haven't laid a hand on that boy in close to ten years. There are other things worse to him than being switched."

I glanced to Laure, but she was staring at me with uncertainty, "What sort of things?"

"The only other time I've had to do...anything...to keep him in line, I refused to let him work at the docks. That seems to take the fire right out of him," he said curtly, "...usually anyway. He's been a regular little demon ever since Laure told her him you were coming."

"Don't call him that," I bit out.

The old man looked at me in surprise, carefully looking over my mask for the first time, but he nodded.

"He has needed you," he said kindly, "I just hope I have been enough all these years."

"Papa," Laure said raggedly, "you've been the best. Of course you've been enough. I...I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't taken me in."

"Nonsense," he turned around to glare at her, "you're my daughter. What else was I going to do? Turn you out?" he shook his head at her, as if she had insulted him, "I thank God every day for sending you back. Both of you."

She smiled at him and reached out to squeeze his arm, "I love you, Papa."

He grunted at her, but I knew the affection was returned with ardor. I wondered how the little girl who had left his island had ended up in Mazanderan of all places. No doubt her sheltered life here had left her completely unprepared for the dark mind of the khanum, and defenseless against me as well.

"Would you like to see the shipyard?" he asked suddenly, "The boy has some surprising designs for the French naval fleet. I would think an architect would appreciate the uniqueness of his abilities."

I shot an apprehensive look at Laure, but she nodded her head at me encouragingly. I wanted more than anything to find something in common with this boy, _my son_. Music...if he would allow me to hear him, and shipbuilding, which I have had no experience with, although it is similar to architecture in many ways. Those things were a start. I was beginning to feel the strain of being an appropriate role model, because I had failed miserably for him. There was nothing in my past that I could be proud of, that I could tell him...'look, son, your father did this'.

I felt as Caesar had when comparing himself to Alexander. Only I was thirty five, not thirty, and I would never conquer the world.


	10. Distance

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

The quiet Port of Ajaccio was relatively empty at close to dinner time. I afforded several startled glances, as always, as I walked along the dockside with Vincent Bourne. Nadir had opted to stay at the house with Laure, and I for one was grateful. I was tempted to have a row with him at any point, and I knew that if I didn't rein the urge in I would very likely kill him.

"You've traveled extensively, haven't you, Erik?"

"I've been to every major continent except the Americas and the Antarctic, which doesn't really count. I have lost track of the foreign soil I have slept on. I was grateful to return to France, and I have no desire to leave its comforts," I said easily.

"Yes, coming home after a long journey is rewarding," he replied.

I didn't comment. I have never had what I would call a home. The Opera didn't count. It had been a self made prison. My conscious decision to turn my back on mankind and retreat to my own personal paradise. I had hated it and loved it in the same breath.

"Laure said that you had traveled with Nicolas. When was this?" I asked steadily.

"When he had just turned thirteen. He suddenly had itchy feet. Laure thought she would wake up one morning and find that he had run away, so she agreed to let me take him on a seven month journey around the Mediterranean, then up along the Greek Ilse into Turkey. We sailed back along the northern coast of Africa, then made a final stop in Spain. I think it was a culture shock for him. He has been content since then to build his boats," he said wryly.

He indicated a massive cutter marooned at the end of the pier, "He designed this one himself. Took him about three months to perfect the sail plans. The man who wanted the commission said he would retire if anyone found out that he'd been bested by a fifteen year old boy," he laughed, "the design was instantly approved by the client. He's been waiting impatiently for it to be sailed to him in Italy."

I studied the fine sleek lines of the rigging, the hull was a gleaming crimson red color with pristine white sails. It was a beautiful ship. If I had been a naval architect, I would have been proud to have designed something so majestic. I was proud enough that it had been built by my son.

"He's very talented," I managed, "how many has he designed?"

"This is he first one that has been completed," he gestured towards the rest of the marina, "the other projects are for the military. I think that is his ultimate goal. To design a battleship, something that will give him the respect he deserves for his hard work. He's also interested in experimenting with different types of engines. He wants to go and learn in Belfast and Liverpool about ocean liners and whatnot. I think his favorite ship was the SS Great Eastern."

"Not one of yours?"

"Ah...no. I don't have the patience or inclination to design something so monstrous. I would be dead by the time of its maiden voyage!" he laughed easily.

He finally led me into the small office near the docks, and allowed me to look over my sons' sail plans. They were all for ships far more advanced for anything out on the water at present. I have sailed on many ships, and while it isn't my favorite past time, I have always admired anything of beauty. It was obvious my son had an appreciation for those things as well.

I scanned over the plans quickly, estimating the time and cost and labor of such an endeavor. The return on this industry was very profitable. It was obvious Vincent Bourne had done very well for himself, and taken my son and Laure under his wing and provided for them as well. I wondered if he would be offended if I offered to repay him for any expense my son had cost him. Probably, but I would extend it nonetheless.

Before I could speak, I became aware that the hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end. I haven't felt such a chill since I last saw the khanum. I glanced up at Bourne, but he was seated at his desk looking over a ledger. When I turned around, there was nothing behind me but the empty window of the office, looking out over the port.

I glanced over at the wall of the office and was drawn to a painting of the wild Mediterranean sea. The cutter was sailing gracefully along the coast of Corsica, Ajaccio in the backdrop, and a dark gray storm was heading directly towards it.

"Laure painted that," Bourne said from his position at the desk.

"She's talented," I said pleasantly.

"She's always loved to paint," he sighed and returned to his ledgers, "I wish she had an easier life. She isn't well received here anymore."

"Why? Because of her vacant husband?" I prodded.

I was met with silence. I continued to study the bold, sweeping lines of the landscape, waiting for a response.

"Are you ready, Erik?" Bourne said without looking up, ignoring my question.

"I can find my way back. Please continue," I said politely, then excused myself. I wondered why Laure's life was difficult, and why her father had avoided my question.

When I stepped out into the sunlight of the marina, I glanced behind me towards the cutter. Standing high on the mast, I recognized a familiar face glaring down at me with all the intensity of a willing executioner. He looked like a captain, or a pirate standing there with his boot propped on the rigging and his arm above his head. We stared at one another for at least a full minute, but before I could move, he tugged a rope from the spar and slid down the main mast with all the agility of a jungle cat.

I waited for him to appear on the dock and stride towards me, but he jumped down and walked in the other direction without looking back. Tempted as I was to go after him, I was more terrified of what I would say if I did.

"Nicolas," I whispered after him, letting my voice carry on the wind.

I knew he heard me because he stopped for a moment and clenched his fists at his sides. It was exactly the same response I would have given, if I had been in his place. I prayed that he was nothing like me. It would be tragedy if two of me had been unleashed upon this world.

* * *

I strode back to Laures' house on shaky legs, and with a wounded heart. I hadn't been prepared for that brief and unwelcoming glimpse of my son. It hurt to merely think. 

They were still in the library when I returned, deep in a discussion about something that halted immediately when I entered the room. The moved away from their close stance beside the mantle and looked at me expectantly.

"He's talented," I admitted, but refused to divulge our non confrontation on the dock. He didn't need any more hassling over our relationship. I was finding it difficult enough. I could only imagine what he thought.

"He loves ships," she said, smiling proudly, "he's been obsessed with them since he was a baby. I am thankful that my father had the patience to show him and teach him everything. I think if he had been born a few hundred years ago, he would have been one of the first designers of the initial French navy."

"Does he earn a lot of money for his commissions?"

"Oh, yes. Ever since he came back from that trip with my father, he's been trying to get one. I assume he showed you the cutter?" she asked hesitantly, "He's so proud of that ship. I don't think he wants to give it up. The man from Italy hasn't seen it yet, and it kills Nikolas that he hasn't seen her on the water. Not like she should be."

I stepped closer to her, peering down at her hair, thinking of the painting in Bournes' office. The odd streak was still there. I lifted a hand out to her, which she gazed at with wide eyed fascination. The tendril was painted a brilliant yellow, and when I brushed against it, I felt her breath leave her body harshly and hit my wrist.

"Were you painting earlier?" I murmured, looking into her eyes.

"I...yes...," she stammered, "...yes."

I released her hair immediately, sensing her discomfort. She stumbled backwards several steps, then retreated back behind the desk.

"I saw the painting in your fathers' office. Do you enjoy it?"

"Its the only thing I enjoy, besides my son," she muttered, staring at the desk.

"Do you only do landscapes?" I asked softly, already knowing part of the answer.

She shook her head slowly, "Portraits, still life, abstracts. I am versatile."

"Maybe you could show me your studio sometime," I offered casually.

"Its personal," she said quietly, "no one goes in there but me."

I raised a brow, but said nothing. There are all sorts of ways into peoples lives. Not all of them are direct.

"Nadir, are you ready to return to the ship?"

"You're leaving?" she gasped, "You haven't even met him, and you're just going to leave?"

I stared at her in shock. How could she think that I would abandon him? He was my son! I cursed Nadir for keeping him away from me, and myself for not staying in Corsica longer when I came looking for her thirteen years ago.

"The ship is docked here for three days. All of our belongings are aboard there, and that is where we will be staying until we find suitable accommodations," I replied sharply.

She lowered her eyes at once, "You may stay here. I have plenty of room."

"I don't think your husband would approve, Madame Sagesse," I said coldly.

Her eyes shot up to mine, and I saw a stricken look enter her eyes, "How do you know about that?"

"I heard it around the village," I said evasively, shooting Nadir a dark look.

"He...he won't mind," she said hesitantly, "he's...away."

"I appreciate the offer," I said noncommittally, "Nadir?" I bit out, turning to him.

Nadir pushed away from the mantle with negligence, bowing slightly to Laure before he left the room. I turned back to her, studying the pale face and dark circles beneath her eyes. She looked exhausted, far too much for her age.

"I'm not going to try to take him, Laure," I said softly, "I just want to know him."

Her hands trembled at her sides, and she thrust them behind her back quickly, closing her eyes. I knew she was more terrified of me now than she had been in Persia. I wished that I could go back and change things, change everything. I had a legacy now. A line that would continue on forever, through his children, and grandchildren. _My _grandchildren. It was all too much to think about. I hoped that Nicolas could forgive me for not being there. For being the worst candidate for a father in the history of mankind.

She opened her eyes, and they were filled with such misery that I almost reached out to her. It was unthinkable that I had created a child with this woman. She had carried my son around inside her, nursed him. Loved him, far more than I had ever been. Laure looked as if she were about to break down in front of me, and I felt a tremor of fear that she would. Then what would I do?

She saved us both from an embarrassing and awkward situation.

"Excuse me," she whispered, then turned and left me in the library alone.


	11. Something Real

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

I hadn't painted him in five years. Ever since I received the first letter from Nadir, confirming that he had made it out of Persia alive, and had settled into a life of nothing as a ghost, I had abandoned every hope of ever seeing him again, and done my best to never conjure him in my mind. The stack of canvases in the corner show how many times he crossed my mind in the first ten years. In that regard, I could understand his obsession with Christine.

Except I had something real, with a man who wasn't.

The Erik in my mind never existed. It was a delusion I created to help me cope with what the khanum had ordered. There was nothing noble about the man who had exploited the theater, the man who had kidnapped Christine.

Yet, I couldn't stop myself when the brush strokes began to form his face. Not the face covering I have preferred to paint over the years, but this time the man. It was Nicolas, and it wasn't. I briefly considered painting the other right side as complete as the left, but discarded it. I had enough fantasies where he was concerned. That had never been one of them. I instead covered the right side with the half mask, so cold and uncompromising, so beautiful and masculine. It suited him far better than the one he had worn in Persia.

I wondered why he had changed his mind about revealing all or nothing.

The man I painted tonight was as different from the one I remembered as night and day, as sea and land. I felt raw and incredibly tired, but was too wound up to do anything other than paint, and paint, and paint, until I could finally look him in the eyes, the ones from my canvas, and weep bitter tears of regret and agony. I stared back into the face, and suddenly wanted to rip it to shreds. I was consumed by an anger that had always been held in check, always tempered by my vow to never show Nicolas what I really felt for his father. If I hadn't cared so much, I would have been immune by now. I would have been indifferent to those haunting eyes. I would have felt nothing when he had touched my hair, as gently and delicately as he had all those years ago.

I slammed the door viciously shut in my mind, blocking out the pain and heartache of the past. There was nothing that could change what had happened, and what could never be. I didn't think I had the heart to forgive him for letting me go so easily. I had cried myself all the way across Persia, cried empty tears into three separate seas before I found my way back home. Along the way I had discovered that not only was I pregnant, but I had lost my heart. And the man I had given it to, didn't know, and didn't care. Why should he?

I only did what I had to do, right?

I locked the door to my studio, realizing it was well after midnight, and with a heavy heart I realized Nicolas had not come back home. I made my way down to the spacious room my father had built for Oman, and knocked softly on the door.

"Yes, Madame Sagesse?"

"Could you walk to the docks with me? I'm worried about Nicolas," I said softly.

The door opened and revealed a sleep tousled Oman, wrapped in a thick Persian robe.

"Of course, Madame. I will be a moment," he said quietly, then closed the door.

I had a hard time explaining to Nicolas why Oman was so small, and why he spoke in such a high tone of voice. Seraglio guards are castrated to better serve the women of the shah's harem. If they can be trained to fight fiercely as well as provide the useful service of keeping the women chaste, then they are rewarded by not being killed or imprisoned. Oman has never spoken of the vicious and barbaric procedure that left him incomplete, and I have never asked. I only hope that his time with me has been peaceful, and that I have provided him with as much comfort as he has me. I will forever be indebted to the man who guided me all the way from Mazanderan.

The door opened and Oman stepped out, quickly leading the way out the back door and around towards the path that led to the docks. I knew he had been trained in weaponry for the shah, and I had seen him use deadly force during our mad escape across the Alborz mountains then through the Caucasus mountains before boarding a ship on the Black Sea. We sailed the rest of our journey, and I believe I may have even visited the same places that Nicolas had, but I barely remember my journey. Six months of travel, and all I could think about was Erik, and the child he didn't know about.

"Erik, he is well?" Oman asked suddenly.

"I don't know," I whispered, although I had no idea why I was being so quiet.

There was no one about this time of night. Unconsciously I stepped closer to Oman. The last time I had come near the shore at night I had been abducted, and my companion killed. I did not wish for a repeat. I hoped Nicolas was here, because there was no way I was going to the cove.

Oman waited dutifully on the docks as I boarded the cutter. I slipped past the tons of ropes and tools waiting to be removed for its maiden voyage, and walked down to the cabin areas in the bowels of the ship. I opened the door to the captain's chambers, and spied him by the desk with his back to me.

"Nicolas," I whispered softly, "please come home, son."

The figure who turned his head wasn't Nicolas. I saw the mask gleaming from the darkness on the desk, and I stepped back.

"Go away," he said softly, his voice shaking slightly.

"Erik?" I asked in concern. He sounded incredibly upset.

"Go."

I was torn between running back to my house, and staying to see if he was okay. He sounded bereft, as if his soul was in chaos, and his heart was in shreds. He was slouched over with his arms propped against his knees, and his face was buried in his hands. I dared not approach him if he were crying. I remember too clearly what he was like.

"He would have been better off if you never told him anything about me," he said tightly, "you should have told him I was dead."

The words cut through me like a knife. I was hesitant about his abilities as a caring and loving man, and as a responsible and gentle father. But I never would have lied about him to Nicolas. Never.

"He...he was proud of you," I managed hoarsely, "he was proud when he thought you were an architect. When he thought that was all you were. I never wanted him to know about anything else. When he was little," I whispered, struggling to keep my voice even, "he wanted to build palaces, just like his father."

Erik sobbed, bowing his head against his chest, his shoulders shaking with the joy of fatherhood, and of the misery of his failures. He reached out and placed a palm across the wall of the cabin, as if by touching something tangible, he could feel Nicolas in the wood and grooves of the ship.

"Erik," I said miserably. My heart was breaking for him, and I made the mistake of stepping forward.

"Just leave me alone, Laure," he spat, his chest heaving rapidly. I heard the anger in his voice, and he was once again that chained animal, barely restraining himself from lashing out at anyone who dared to get close. I wanted to tell him that being comforted did not mean he was diminished as a man, that needing a kind word and a strong shoulder to lean on was not a sign of weakness. Instead I turned around and left the room, barely making it out the door before I too burst into tears.

Nicolas stepped out of the darkness behind my fathers' office, and I nearly screamed when I saw the shadow of his form before I recognized him.

"Is he still in there?" he demanded, "Is he still on _my_ ship?"

"Yes," I said sharply, brushing the tears from my eyes in anger, "and tomorrow, you are going to meet him, and you are going to be courteous."

He snorted at me, and I reached up and grasped his ear. He yelped in surprise as I yanked his face down to mine.

"What has gotten into you?" I whispered furiously. "I can't take this anymore, Nicolas. I want my son back. I want to know what it is that has you so angry. He hasn't done anything to you. Why won't you meet him?"

"Because he's a liar," he said coldly, "a liar, and a murderer. I can't believe you let him into the house. I can't believe you _want _me to meet him. Are you blind, Mother?"

I released him immediately, feeling blindsided by the hatred in his voice. I had always taught him to be fair, that hate was wrong, that violence was wrong. I had taught him everything that Eriks' parents obviously never had.

"Nicolas, he's your father. Please give him a chance," I cried, trying to keep from breaking down. My son was tearing me apart, and I had no idea how to help him.

"I don't have a father!" he shouted, nearly knocking me into the water in his desperation to get away from me.

Oman caught my elbow before I pitched in backwards and steadied me. Gratefully I leaned against his small frame, trying to shove down the pain that I had caused my son by not being honest with him. The pain I had caused them both by keeping them apart. If I had let them meet five years ago, when Nicolas was still young enough to have wanted his father in his life, then this wouldn't have happened. I looked back to the cutter and felt as if what was left of my heart would wither and die.

Erik stood on the bridge of the ship with a foot propped against the hull. The cape swirled around him gracefully in the night sky, striking out at the stars and heavens. I felt the tears finally sweep across my cheeks when I imagined I heard his voice, softly whispering his sons' name.


	12. Contrition

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

I woke to the sound of the drapes being yanked open, and the harsh sun pouring into my eyes. I struggled to sit upright and orient myself against the sudden blinding glare, and was rewarded when a tall form stepped in front of the light, blocking my pained eyes.

"Mother?" Nicolas asked gently, "Are you okay?"

"I was fine a moment ago," I grumbled, trying to toss the tangled sheets from my legs. He helped me carefully, pulling the twisted mass of linens off the bed, then crouched beside me on the floor.

"I didn't hurt you last night did I?" he whispered, his voice full of contrition.

I finally was able to focus on his face, seeing his hazel eyes filled with worry and fear. His chin was quivering in the adorable way it used to when he had gotten into too much trouble, and my father had to be called in. I pushed a lock of dark hair from his forehead, "Not physically."

He lowered his eyes in shame and reached out to take my hands, "I'm sorry," he said solemnly, "I'm sorry."

"Nicolas, your father is a man, with emotions and feelings, just like me, just like you. I think you really hurt him last night," I said hesitantly.

"I..I don't want to talk about him," he mumbled, "I just wanted to make sure I didn't hurt _you_. Oman said...," he broke off with a sharp breath, "...he said you almost fell into the water. I didn't mean to, I swear."

I looked into his eyes, so much like mine, and incapable of face to face deceit. I knew he hadn't. He had never been violent. Not really. There had been one or two scrapes he'd gotten into in the last couple of years, with island boys who liked to make fun of me, or his success as a shipwright. He wasn't a boy anymore, and he'd fought with the desperation and tenacity of a young man, intent on protecting his mother's honor, and his own reputation.

"Nicolas, there's a lot of things you don't know about him. Some of them possibly worse than Paris, but I'm not going to tell you about them. I want to tell you that I should have let you meet him when I found out he was alive five years ago, before the fire ever happened. I think if he had had someone in his life, a meaning, a purpose, none of those terrible things would have happened," I cupped his chin in my hand and made him look at me, "he's been alone for a very long time. Can you imagine what kind of life he has had, to _want_ to seclude himself from society? There's a reason for it. There has to be."

"Would you like me to bring you a cup of coffee?" he asked impassively, avoiding my eyes again.

I sighed and fell back onto the bed in exasperation, "Yes! For the love of God, please!"

He chuckled slightly and squeezed my knee before he left. I knew he was going to be difficult on this. I only hoped Erik was strong enough to withstand his stubbornness. Somewhere under that seemingly impenetrable shield was my wonderful and usually carefree son. The perfect son. I only wished he could have been reunited with the perfect father.

* * *

Papa was sitting in his office with Nicolas when I finally made it down to the docks. Nicolas was staring at his lap, shame faced again, and my father was leaning against the desk with a stern and foreboding expression. 

"Laure," my father said with a quiet anger, "I was just informed about what happened last night. Are you sure you're uninjured?"

"I'm fine, Papa," I said reassuringly, and put my hand on Nicolas. He was tense and withdrawn against my palm, and I squeezed him gently, "Nicolas has apologized, and I know that he will not repeat something like that again. Isn't that right?"

"Yes, Mother," he said softly.

"Good," I replied cheerfully, and gave him a kiss on the top of his head, "Because I have an entire list of things for you to pick up today in town."

He groaned, and tilted his head back to give me a baleful look. I could tell that he was relieved to be off the hook so easily, and I tugged his ear in a mocking gesture which made him flush.

"Here," I said, tucking a note into his front pocket and grinning, "take this with you."

He gave me a small smile and stood up to embrace me.

"I really am sorry."

"I know," I said, "I just hope you can be more forgiving for other people."

He didn't comment, just backed out the door without looking toward my father. I watched him leave with sad resignation, feeling a complete and overwhelming surge of guilt again.

"He's going to meet with him this evening," my father said suddenly.

I turned around quickly, "How did you manage that?"

"He wants to go back to the ship, of course," he chuckled, "but I hope there is more to it than that."

"Have you seen Erik this morning?" I asked warily.

"Nadir said he is staying on the ship for the time being. It's the Odyssey, over near the outer edge of the peninsula," he pointed out the window to the large steam ship.

"Where is Nadir?" I asked, not wanting to have to go inform Erik of the arrangement.

"He went into town. He didn't look particularly happy about it either," he muttered.

"I don't suppose you would go with me?" I pleaded.

"Not a chance."

* * *

The Odyssey was a cramped and cluttered vessel with far too many people milling about, and a sagging decayed look to it that reminded me of the pirates' ship I had boarded seventeen years ago. After asking around for several minutes, I was directed to the farthest cabin from the stairs, behind the galley and next to the boilers. I knocked on the door hesitantly, and was met with an immediate, "Not right now." 

I stood there for several moments, wondering if I should leave or not. Was he doing something personal? Or was he just being Erik? I started to turn away, when the door opened an inch and he peered out at me.

"May I help you, Madame Sagesse?" he asked hostilely.

"I w-wanted to tell you that Nicolas has agreed to meet with you," I said nervously.

The door opened further, and he retreated inside. I took it as a sign to follow him, and was astounded by the lack of space in the room. He had no window, no apparent source of light, nothing that would have made me think the formally dressed man standing next to the narrow bed would be comfortable.

"It is abysmal, isn't it?" he murmured, "Although I have seen far worse. I have lived in far worse."

"Paris?" I asked suddenly, and immediately regretted it.

The look that crossed his face told me that Paris had nothing to do with it. I wondered what could be worse than living in a dungeon below the theater, with a freezing lake surrounding your home.

"What punishment is he to receive if he doesn't obey?" he asked curtly.

"You make it sound as if we beat him! Honestly, give me_ some_ credit," I huffed, "he isn't being punished. He is regaining his right to go back to the docks."

"I see. So he only does this so he can return to work?" he scowled, "He does this for the sake of his craft?"

"He's fifteen. He thinks he can rebuild the entire naval fleet by himself. Keeping him away from his ships would be like asking Mozart to stop playing," I said dryly.

"What instrument does he play?" he asked suddenly.

"Nicolas? Whatever you put in his hands," I laughed, "it used to drive all the girls around here mad. He'd play, and sing them a pretty song, and they would be like willing sacrifices at his feet."

He was silent, but I could see a wistful smile lurking on his face.

"You must have some talent then," I said carefully, "for you to choose the theater to live...and...work."

"Some," he conceded with a laugh.

I wondered why he was being so modest. Nadir had told me about his opera, '_Don Juan Triumphant_'. Nicolas obviously knew about it as well. With a start, I realized that he had stopped playing for us all, roughly the same time he had stolen a glimpse of Nadir's letters. I must have made some noise, because Erik inquired softly, "Madame Sagesse, are you okay?"

"I...I'm fine," I whispered hoarsely, but suddenly I couldn't breath in the confined space of the cabin. It was too dark, too close together, to Erik, to the walls, the floor, and the ceiling. I stepped back into the hallway quickly, gasping for breath.

"Madame?" he asked urgently, peering out the door before he stepped toward me.

"I'm fine. Just a little claustrophobic," I managed weakly.

"I know the feeling," he said rashly, glancing back to the small room.

"Why don't you come to the house?" I offered, holding my hand up when he started to shake his head, "There is plenty of room. You will have a spacious room, and privacy."

Almost as if on cue, a loud crash sounded in the galley as a worker dropped pots and pans, then there was raucous laughter from within. Erik stepped back into the dim shadow of his room, growling in impatience.

"There's no need for you to stay here. I have at least nine bedrooms in that house. Eleven if you count the ones that still haven't been remodeled," I sighed, "I don't know why my father insisted on buying me that monstrosity. I rarely have guests."

"I don't want to trouble you," he said politely, "and I think it would cause more problems with Nicolas."

"Nicolas is going to have to grow up," I said sharply, "and you aren't trouble."

Actually he was. Huge trouble, and not in the 'sorry for the inconvenience' way. But I cringed merely standing in that room for a minute. I could only imagine lying in there at night, and sitting there bored all day.

"Very well, Madame Sagesse. You may ask us to leave at any time," he said graciously, "I'll come up this evening."

"You don't want to get out of here now?" I asked in disbelief.

"What I want," he said dryly, looking at the ceiling pointedly, "and what I will do, are entirely different matters. Good day, Madame," he said, then stepped back to shut the door.


	13. A Glimpse of What Could Be

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I lay back on the cramped bed, my legs dangling over the end, feeling weary for no apparent reason. The darkness did this to me. Made me feel consistently tired, even though I had not done a damned thing for months. I had escaped the gypsies two and a half decades ago, only to lock _myself_ in a cage. I wondered if I would ever be able to escape the one in my mind.

_'I don't have a father!'_

Those words had caused many, many tears to fall last night. Nadir had heard them as well from the stern of the steamship, and had wisely stayed out of my way. I saw a lot of myself in that young, angry man last night, and it was frightening and humbling at the same time. How could someone like me, produce someone with such perfect features? He possessed all of my talents, apparently, from music to an understanding of mathematical problems that few people can grasp. Yet, he had the face that I should have been born with, with eyes like his mother. He was going to be tall, possibly even taller than me, and certainly more solidly built. I had lost some weight during the months leading up to the fire, and didn't have the desire to put it back on. My skeletal frame had finally worn off with the advance of age, but now I was still leaner than I would have liked. My clothing had been altered at some point to accommodate my shrinking frame, and I was about as uninterested in food at this point as possible.

'_I don't have a father!'_

I couldn't get those words out of my mind. I have never been adept with words, or with people, for that matter, but somehow I had to find something to say to Nicolas. Some reason, other than madness and depravity for my actions.

_'A liar and a murderer!'_

Yes. I was both of those things, although I have never lied for the sake of lying. I have committed murder, in a manner that ensures that I will never meet the God I have turned my back on. I wonder if I will go to Hell just for my deliberate refusal to accept that I should have been born this way. Thirty five years of false hope, hatred, and ignorance, should have given me the answers I needed. I thought I had found the perfect solution in Paris. To live in solitude, keeping out of the way of humans who hated me, and ensuring that their lives were protected from my wrath while I obeyed Nadir and did not commit extraneous and senseless murders.

I at times felt grateful for the promise he extracted from me. It supported my belief that I had made the right decision, and comforted me after my desperate struggle to get out of Persia. The first place I had come was here. I had laid in a small cabin in the port, much like this one, with only word in my mind: _'Ajaccio'_. The khanum had done a number on me, but she couldn't erase the words that had been whispered to me. It had been a senseless and foolish endeavor. I had thought that it had all been a dream.

Laure was not real. Not the one I knew. I had come here in search of a shy and impressionable fifteen year old girl. I had found nothing, but whispered rumors of a girl _named_ Laure, rushing off to Bastia for a secret romance with her vagrant husband. This girl had been married for over four years. I left Corsica, dejected, but determined to put to rest the ghost of the girl I had thought about for the last two years it had taken me to finish the palace.

'_I am willing. Save me, Erik.'_

I curled up on the cot on my side, wishing I had taken her offer to go to the house. I was going to lay here in misery the rest of the day with only my thoughts for company. With a ragged groan, I finally gave up and began to weep again.

* * *

I woke up in a grumpy mood, to Nadir tapping rhythmically on the door. I opened it cautiously, surprised to see the sunset through the porthole in the hallway.

"Christ," I muttered, stumbling back into the room, "is it time already?"

"Time?" he repeated.

"I'm supposed to go meet him this evening," I sighed, rubbing a hand across my face. I hadn't even had time to consider what I would say. "Laure has invited us to stay at the house," I muttered.

"I believe I will stay here," he declined politely.

"I don't believe you will! I have already accepted, and I'm not staying up there alone with her," I said testily.

"And Nicolas," he added.

"What?"

"Her and Nicolas," he repeated, moving farther out into the hall.

"Just get your things together," I snarled, putting my own things into a trunk.

We stacked our two trunks on top of one another and carried them in mutual silence up the hill. I set them down on the steps of the house with a heavy thump, and rapped on the door. Oman answered immediately, moving around me in silence to see to the trunks. I wondered why the little eunuch had stayed with her all these years. Had she asked him? Or had he done so out of loyalty? Such devoutness was rare inside the harem, where they had no control over any facet of their lives, and they were frustrated by the constant barrage of flesh before them, and no means to do anything about it. I figure eunuchs must still have some stirring of desire for females, even while lacking the proper equipment. I was certainly fond of my own, which the khanum had once threatened to remove.

"Inside," Oman directed in a dismissive voice, indicating the library.

I opened the doors, a nervous and dizzying tension making my hands shake. Nicolas was standing inside with a belligerent posture, his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at me in defiance. I felt like Laure had earlier. The air was too hot, I couldn't breathe, and the walls had suddenly closed in on me with stunning ferocity. On legs that would have been better suited to a drunk spider, I moved forward until there were only inches separating us, until I could study the familiar features of a young man that I had never met, and yet had known all my life.

"Hello, Nicolas," I whispered tightly, trying to keep the emotion from my voice and failing.

"Father," he spat, "glad you could finally make it."

"Nicolas!" came a sharp reprimand from his mother. The boy glanced over to her, and his gaze softened immediately.

"Sorry, Mother," he said dutifully, but when he looked back to me, the anger was still quite evident.

I turned around to see Laure and her father sitting close together on the settee, with another, older woman hovering in the background like a nervous hen. She was wringing her hands, pacing, and when she caught me looking her direction she froze.

"Madame Bourne?" I asked hesitantly.

"Erik, this is my mother, Clare," Laure stood up and introduced us quickly.

I bowed to her slightly, "Pleased to meet you Madame, I am sorry it couldn't have been under other...circumstances."

"Thank you for your kindness...Monsieur...?"

"Medart," I said flatly, "but I prefer Erik."

I heard the kid snort behind me, and I ignored him. I was beginning to see what Laure meant. I had nearly went after him last night when he knocked her backwards, but my own pain had kept me away. I prayed that by the time I left here, he would have something more to say about me than that I didn't exist.

I moved away from him and placed a hand upon the wall.

"Everyone tells me you have a passion for ships," I said carefully, looking not at him, but at the patterns of cornice work on the wall, "I thought the cutter was magnificent."

"Mother?" he asked sharply, turning his face towards her.

"No, Nicolas. You are staying, and that is final," she said softly, then went to stand behind him. She placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, and for a brief moment I saw beneath the armor he wore. His eyes betrayed him. They flickered over to me slightly, then closed as if in pain.

"The boy can leave if he likes," I said quietly, "I'm going to be here awhile."

"I prefer to get this over with," he muttered, obviously doing it only to be in contradiction with me.

"I'm going to be here awhile," I said again with an edge, spreading my arms wide, palms up, "so we can continue our discussion at any time. There is no need for such hostility, Nicolas. You don't have to worry, I won't _murder_ you while you sleep."

"You wouldn't get close enough," he taunted me, and as tempted as I was to close in, I merely smiled, although inside I was dying.

This wasn't how I wanted it to go. Not at all. He wasn't shouting at me, he was barely saying a word. If I knew what he was thinking, if he had been gracious enough to take a swing at me, I would have been in familiar territory. But he was treating me with an indifference that I could not tolerate. I knew the reaction I would get before I spoke the words, and somehow found the courage to push the button.

"Your family tells me you are fond of music. Who is your favorite composer?"

"It sure as hell isn't you!" he shouted, jerking free of Laure's grasp.

"You like opera then?" I managed, trying to keep a good natured tone, and finding it increasingly difficult, "I like all types of music, from classical to folk, even ethnic music from India, Romania, Africa. Those people use music as part of a ritual. I especially like the _Irish_. Always drinking, having a good time. Or drinking, having a bad time," I chuckled, "it really doesn't matter to them."

He stopped in his tracks, settling back into Laure's embrace, "The Irish?" he repeated warily.

"Oh, yes," I said dutifully, "Belfast, Dublin, all over it really. Did you know they build a lot of ships there?"

I caught Vincent Bourne's eye, but there was no need. He was smiling encouragingly at me, approving of my strategy.

"Belfast," he repeated slowly, "did you see the Harland and Wolff shipyard?"

"Regrettably, no. I will have to keep that in mind for my next visit."

"Erik, did you bring your things with you? Laure told me the Odyssey was a nightmare. I'd offer to let you stay with us, but we rent our rooms out to a couple of kids who work at the docks. Our house isn't quite as roomy as this one," he said cheerfully.

"Papa, you should have bought this house for you, and let me moved farther inland. The farther I could get away from the...," she stopped suddenly and lowered her eyes, "...the sea..."

Nicolas reached up and grasped the hand that rested on his shoulder, tilting his head back to smile at her.

"You could have tried to drag me away from here," he said teasingly, "but I don't think you would have found it so easy to do."

She brushed her fingers through his hair and pressed a swift kiss to his forehead, "You may go, Nicolas, if your father still dismisses you. But I want you back here tonight at a decent hour."

"Yes, Mother."

He lifted his head and fixed me with a challenging gaze.

"Nicolas, you are welcome to leave at any time. I'm not your captor," I said softly.

"Thanks for the tip," he muttered.

I watched as he bid his grandparents good night, then kissed his mother. He didn't glance at me when he left, but I heard him say hello to Nadir on his way out the front door. I breathed in a sigh of relief as he left, clenching my hands into fists to stop the shaking.

"That went well," Vincent said dryly.

"Right," I muttered, "he's thrilled to see me, and I'm the Queen of England."

Laure chuckled and went to sit back beside her father, "He really is a sweet boy. He's never behaved like this before. I can't imagine whats gotten into him."

"Me." I said quietly. "He's just like me."

"In a lot of ways," she agreed, "but he is usually light-hearted, carefree, and forgiving."

Things that I was decidedly not. The only time I was ever carefree was when I was on opium or morphine. Light-hearted was not a term that was even in my vocabulary, and I was not a forgiving man.

"Well, dear, we're going to go home," Clare spoke nervously, "are you sure everything is going to be fine?"

She glanced at me as she spoke, and I knew what she was referring to. Everywhere I went, there was always someone concerned that I was going to cause trouble, be a nuisance, frighten women, and eat children. I ignored her and stared at the wall, emptying my mind to the rest of their inane comments. When I finally snapped out of it, Laure was standing in front of me, looking at me in exasperation.

"Are you deaf?"

"No, Madame Sagesse," I said softly, "My hearing is perfect."

"Would you like to see your room or not?" she asked tightly.

"Of course, Madame," I returned evenly.

"Laure," she tossed over her shoulder before she left the room, leaving me to follow her up a pristine white and oak staircase.

The house was decorated in tones meant for the coast, with a subtle Mediterranean flare to it that only the French and Italian can get away with. It wouldn't be considered a proper home in Paris. It was too bright, to airy, and far too casual. It made me want to crawl back into the dark and dank cabin of the ship and bury my head in a greasy pillow. She led me to a room on the opposite end of the house, on an upstairs wing that extended towards the inner circle of the island.

"I assumed you would want to be away from everyone else," she said quietly, "I hope that is okay."

"Perfect."

"Nadir is closer to the stairs. The only other thingthis far back is my studio. I'll try not to disturb you if I come back here," she paused, "and I meant what I said. It is off limits."

She turned around to give me a level stare, and for some reason I imagined that she would have finished her sentence with, 'especially to you'. Interesting. My curiosity was definitely piqued.

The room was open and spacious, and I imagined that in the morning the sunlight would be a bothersome, if not a beautiful thing to wake up to. A huge wrought iron bed stood in the center of the room, white voile draping around the canopy rail. I shifted uncomfortably for a moment, seeing something obviously meant for romance and leisure.

"Are you sure about this room? It seems...too womanly."

"Yes...," she muttered, "...it was supposed to be mine, my father had it built for me, but I didn't like staying back here alone. I moved my bedroom closer to Nicolas. I can have the sheets changed if you like."

"Maybe tomorrow," I conceded, "are you sure your husband won't mind us staying here?"

"Very sure," she said gruffly, "good night, Erik."

Somehow those intimate words wrapped around me like a vise, and I looked away as a surge of raw emotion threatened to boil to the surface.

"Good night, Laure," I managed to whisper back, grateful when she backed out of the room, and I could shut the door. I heard her moving down the hallway, then she stopped. A lock slid open, a door opened, then the lock clicked back.

I heard nothing more until well after one in the morning, when I heard the same door open, lock, and then her feet as she continued back down the hallway. It seemed that painting wasn't only a hobby for her. I wondered what it was she painted, that she had to lock the door to keep people out. I closed my eyes for a moment, seeing her face in my mind, somehow connecting her with the Laure I had met fifteen years ago. They were one in the same, I realized. Except Laure then, had wanted me to stay and protect her from the khanum. If only for herself.

The Laure now, didn't want me here. Any more than my son did.


	14. Stupid Girl

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

* * *

Erik did not come down for breakfast, and Nadir left the house before I could corner him into taking a tray upstairs. Nicolas was barely able to sit and eat because he was darting constant glances towards the door. I waited for two hours, then sighed wearily as I prepared a tray. I hoped he wasn't going to be a recluse the entire time. I knocked hesitantly on his door, stepping back when it opened slightly. He had obviously just woken up. His hair was mussed, his face creased with lines from the pillows,...and he was bare to the waist. 

I stared in dry mouthed fascination at the figure before me. His body was larger...much larger than when he was twenty. He was more muscular, very defined, and incredibly magnificent. I opened my mouth, but could not speak. I was standing close enough to feel the heat from his body, see the slightly reddened flesh across his stomach, telling me he had been sprawled across the bed faced down. I felt a shocking heat fly though my core, and the tray trembled in my hands. He braced his arms above his head on the door frame, looking at me like an annoyed panther who had been interrupted from his slumber.

"Do you need something?" he asked with a sleep roughened voice.

"I-I wanted to bring you something to eat. You missed breakfast," I stammered apologetically, "I didn't realize you would still be...asleep."

"I didn't get much sleep last night," he muttered.

"I'm sorry. Is there something wrong with the room?"

He sighed and stepped back, going to sit in a chair near the windows, "No. It wasn't the room."

I set the tray on the desk, "I think everything went relatively well last night." I hoped he would put on a robe, but he just slouched down in the chair, resting his elbows against his knees. His back was truly beautiful and strong...

"He controls himself better than I ever did. That doesn't mean he isn't capable of the same things."

"We didn't create a monster that night," I said sharply, "we created a child. He isn't some abhorrence from mankind just because _you_ sired him."

He raised his head to look at me, the strain of his burdens showing on his face. I wondered if he knew how attractive he was, sitting there in the morning light. Nicolas was going to mature into the face that he allowed the world to see. And I considered my son very handsome, indeed. So did the entire village full of girls.

"You just have to give him time. He will come around. He can't stand constant conflict. Even when he was little he was always ready to apologize, ready for me to kiss his cheek, and tell him everything would be okay," I smiled in thought, "one time he decided he wanted to paint me a picture. He went into the studio and got bright red paint, and proceeded to decorate my staircase and front door."

"Did you...punish him severely?" he asked hoarsely.

"No," I admitted ruefully, "I told him it was the most beautiful painting I had ever seen, then persuaded him to help me repaint everything white. He was convinced that it would have been better red, but he reluctantly helped me."

"Bright red?"

"Bright red," I laughed, "as if the village didn't gossip about me enough, that I would paint my own door in such a shocking and sinful color."

"Why do they talk about you? Your father said you aren't well received here anymore. Why is that?"

I averted my eyes quickly, not wanting him to see the anger in my eyes. I had nothing to fear from the village. They could talk about me all they wanted, as long as they left Nicolas alone. But I wouldn't allow this man to know that I had created an elaborate lie that centered around him. He was the fictional husband that I had created, although he was nothing like him. The man I made up, Etienne Sagesse, was an architect who built palaces in Rome, Paris, and London. He never visited because he was so busy, and I never went with him because I loved the island. The man I had created didn't exist, any more than the man I had believed in when I left Persia.

I wouldn't allow Erik to know that I had never married, that I had never been held by another man.

Never been kissed by any man at all.

He didn't have that right, to know something so personal about me. I was embarrassed by my vehement refusal to allow men into my life, as if no one could have compared to the man I left in Mazanderan. I wouldn't let him see the insane and mountainous stack of canvases in my studio. No one was allowed in there, except me. Not even Nicolas.

"Laure?"

I looked over to him, realizing I had not answered his question.

"Pirates," I mumbled, telling a half lie.

He stared at me a moment then repeated slowly, "Pirates? They won't talk to you because you were kidnapped by pirates?"

"They think I'm immoral. They think I should have drowned myself rather than have went on board with them," I sighed. Most of the people still knew and remembered my abduction, and didn't really believe I had a husband. I dared not confront them about it. The lie was too delicately balanced. So far, no one had dared to directly spew gossip concerning the pirates, at least to Nicolas and my father. But they joked about my husband, as if it were a great joke. I refused to elaborate on it, and eventually my own reluctance to speak on it had caused a niggle of doubt in their minds. They wondered if I had indeed married. They also wondered if me and my lover had killed Pascal.

"Nothing occurred on board though," he said quietly, "I think we had proof of that."

"Yes, well they know nothing about Mazanderan or the harem. And I won't be offering that information, so I'll thank you not to repeat it," I said harshly.

He held his hands up in a mock defensive gesture, "My word is honorable, Madame."

"Nicolas is down at the docks today. If you go down there and give him a compliment or two on the design of his ship, he'll likely talk your ear off," I said subtly.

His eyes widened briefly, "Why are you helping me? I know you don't think I'm qualified for this responsibility. I know you haven't wanted him to ever meet me."

"That isn't true!" I said, startled, "I wanted it more than anything, but you were too busy doing God knows what to even bother with us, and by the time I found out where you were, I was too angry to let you. My God, Erik, you chose to be a _ghost!_ What kind of life is that for a man?" I looked down to see his hands clenching in his lap in anger, "You could have had so much more, if only you had cared enough to find me."

"Would it have mattered?" he bit out, "I was so deranged by the time I finally made it out of there, I couldn't have told you if half of what occurred there was real or not. I wasn't any more fit to be a father then, than I am now!"

"You should have laid off the pipe, then!"

He gave me a malevolent glare, bracing his hands across his knees as he leaned forward to speak to me.

"The khanum gave me a hallucinogen, something she had the men slip into my water at the site. I-I didn't know if what happened between us was real," he whispered, "she would drug me, then arrange for an illusion. Somehow the drug made me think I was...," he broke off, and looked down at his hands, "...it made me think I had consorted with the entire harem."

"She what?" I asked incredulously.

"You heard me," he said evenly, still refusing to look me in the eyes, "Nadir was the one who told me what had happened. There was never any truth to it, just the effects of the drug, but it had seemed so...real. She gloated about it, and said that you had been an illusion too. She said you had been paid well for your deceit, and she had rewarded you by sending you home."

He extended his hand out to me, showing me a large scar across the back of his hand.

"I could tell she was furious about something, but I didn't see the seraglio guard quickly enough to ward him off. She wanted me to kill him, to see me lose control over her deception. I refused to kill him, and it made her very, very angry," he whispered.

"She wanted you for herself," I said softly, watching his head jerk up in surprise, "You didn't know? She was jealous of me. I...when I came back, from your apartment, she was waiting. She asked me...," I stopped suddenly, realizing what I would eventually have to say.

"Asked you what?" he prodded, leaning forward eagerly.

"...if I had enjoyed it," I whispered, looking down at the floor in embarrassment.

He made a soft, strangled sound in his throat, and I peered at him beneath my lashes. He looked absolutely mortified by my response. I backed towards the door quickly, wanting to be away from him and the sudden tension that rent the air with a painful and sexually charged atmosphere.

"I have to go," I muttered ostensibly, then nearly broke into a run as I made it into the hallway. I didn't bother going to the studio, I fled all the way downstairs, out the front door, and towards the docks. Suddenly the island I had never wanted to leave was far too confining and close to Erik. I cursed myself for ever offering my house to him, and for opening up to him, even just a little.

There was no way he could have hallucinated _that much._ No way he could have forgotten about me. About what we did together. It wasn't possible. On my worst days I could still remember every detail.

Perhaps living as a recluse had afforded him with the ability to only hear and only remember what he wanted to. It didn't excuse him, not in my mind. I had believed far too long that I was only worthy of his abandonment.

He had better be prepared to fix his own breakfast if he wasn't going to grace us with his company, I fumed. By the time I made it to my father's office, I was still furious, and completely red-faced.

"Laure?" he asked in concern, "has something happened? Is Nicolas misbehaving again?"

"No," I choked out, "its his father."

"Erik?" he asked in surprise, "What has he done?"

I clenched my jaw tightly, "He never came for me," I whispered painfully, "he never cared. He says he doesn't even remember..."

"Oh, Laure," he said gently, pulling me into his arms, "I was wondering when you were going to admit it."

I sobbed against his chest, knowing exactly what he was telling me, but too stubborn to acknowledge what the words meant. There was no way I had pined for the unfeeling, uncaring bastard for fifteen years. It wasn't possible for me to be so stupid.

He stroked my back gently, letting me cry against him until I heard Nicolas calling to someone outside on the docks. I pushed away quickly, keeping my back turned as the door opened.

"Grandfather, I finished the mast on the _Equator, _I'd like you to look at it when you have a chance," he said, poking his head inside.

"Of course, just wait for me on deck. I'll be there in a moment," Papa said, waving the boy back outside.

My chest heaved suddenly in relief, and I struggled to fight off more tears.

"Laure," he sighed heavily, "you cannot fight what is in you heart. I've watched you contradict yourself at every turn where Erik is concerned. You put too much regard on his actions in Persia. Any man would have been happy to have taken his place, but God led you to him. There's a reason for that. Maybe you should stop fighting it."  
"I can't...," I whispered, "he doesn't deserve my...idiotic devotion. He never did."

"That doesn't mean he hasn't had it. People can change. He's still a young man, and its never too late for forgiveness," he placed a palm on my shoulder, "the things he did in Persia, the things he was forced to do, I could never have done. I would have allowed her to kill me first. He has a stronger will to survive than most people, including me."

"Persia never bothered me," I muttered, "I became acclimated to such displays, and I knew that out of all of her toys, he was the most tormented. She singled him out because of his face, because it was an oddity, and she was a vicious and morbid woman. It was his behavior in Paris. The unthinkable...,"

"You told me yourself that he was sensitive about his appearance. I find it incredible that he ever traveled as much as he did, no doubt being stared at, talked about, laughed at. I would think you would understand that."

I closed my eyes, willing my nerves to relax, for the ache in my heart to fade. I knew it wouldn't. It had been hurting all this time, and only during the happiest times was it forgotten. Only when I looked at Nicolas, as haunting as his face was, and when I looked at the canvas, where I could at last be honest with myself.

I loved Erik. I had for fifteen years.

Foolish, stupid girl.


	15. Chatting

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

* * *

Also...the drug I'm thinking of may or may not exist...but if it did in the late 19th century, it would be a cross between ecstasy and LSD..._**don't do drugs...drugs are bad.**_

Ergot could have caused these effects. I think it is a fungus that grows on wheat or something like that. But it has the potential to be deadly, and supposedly causes you to dance around madly...not that it wouldn't be funny for Erik to dance around madly...but maybe not for this story. He just thinks he had a ton of sex with a ton of harem girls...grins...I'm going to call my drug ahkatz.

* * *

_Erik_

By the time I made it out the front door to go down to the docks, I spotted Laure and Vincent walking arm in arm up the path, going towards a smaller house on the edge of the ridge that ran along the peninsula. She didn't even glance at me, but Vincent tossed a casual arm above his head and waved. I raised my hand in return, then started towards the docks. I couldn't help but wonder what she had told the khanum...

_Did you enjoy it?_

Straining through what remained of the few clear images I had of that night, I knew that _I _had. The khanum had drugged me the morning after she left, and kept me in that state for a week before Nadir had weaned me off the drug. The hazy and erotic images that I recalled hadn't been real. I hadn't done anything with any of those girls. Yet I could feel...and I could taste...so much better. I think she must have overdosed me, because I obtained the drug sometime after I left Persia and tried it. While pleasant, it hadn't had nearly the effect that I had experienced at the hands of the khanum.

Nadir said that the eunuchs told him I was in a catatonic state, and the khanum had let the girls dance for me, say things to me, and touch me, but only on my arms and shoulders. That had been all it had taken. When I experimented with it later, I had heightened sensations of touch and visual stimulation, but I had been able to remember everything afterwards.

Nadir didn't know why the khanum had drugged me. I suppose he assumed it was for helping Laure escape, otherwise he probably would have tried to convince that what I had with Laure was real.

I spied Nicolas unloading the numerous tools that had been on the deck of the cutter, and wordlessly I began to help him. He didn't so much as look at me as he worked, moving the planing tools and paint cans closer to the edge of the ship so I could reach them. He indicated a large wooden scaffold that needed moved, so I assisted in setting it over the side of the ship onto the dock.

"When is the guy going to get her?"

"Supposed to have already done it," he said, scowling, "spoiled, ignorant bastard."

He ran a hand across the hull of the boat lovingly.

"Why are you selling it?"

"It was never mine. He wanted it, I built it," he said simply, but I could sense the loss that he was feeling.

"I felt that way about some of the things I designed," I sighed, stepping back to peer up at the sails, "I didn't think the people who paid for them, my clients, deserved to live in them. I got tired of building houses for people who didn't appreciate anything more than their next meal, or a new suit."

"So you built a theater, and decided to live in it forever?" he asked mockingly.

"Yes," I said, "it was like the palace I could never part with. I spent years on it, changing the original design, and no one ever knew. I was tired of living with humans, so I made my own empire, where I wouldn't have to live amongst the people who hated me."

"You are a human," he snorted at me, coiling a rope around his arms.

I looked at him in surprise, "That, I have never been called before."

He looked at me warily, as if suddenly trying to decide if there were indeed another species of creatures he had been unaware of. I felt his eyes on the mask, something no one could resist. It was more of a temptation than anything I had to offer anyone else.

"Why did you come here?" he asked suddenly, finishing the coil on his arm and tossing it aside.

"I don't have any other sons," I said quietly, "I don't have any other family."

"And you thought you could come here after all this time, and snap my mother and I up? A ready made family?" he asked waspishly.

"That would be rather difficult, with your stepfather, don't you think?"

His eyes widened, "Yeah, you know, I think it would. _My stepfather_. I hadn't thought of him in a long time," he said, sounding overly sarcastic, "thanks for reminding me I had one."

He laughed, as if it were a great joke.

"Am I missing something?" I asked, becoming less and less amused by his tone.

"Well, if she hasn't mentioned _Etienne_, then I suppose I shouldn't either," he said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "I have plans for the day. Are we through chatting?"

I stepped out of his way and watched as he stalked to the end of the docks, tension set in his shoulders, his head high. He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it carelessly against the rail, then he stepped onto a sloop with another kid his age, and they pushed the boat away from the dock, steering it out into the open waters of the port. They sailed around the right side of the port, and I watched until the line of the peninsula cut them off from my vision.

_Etienne._

So that was the name of Laure's husband. My son's stepfather. My hands clenched at my sides in anger. I wondered what sort of man she had married, who couldn't even stay in the same town as her, abandoning her to the gossips, leaving Nicolas without...without what? A father? No. That was my failure, not his. In a way I was glad. I couldn't have stood for another man raising Nicolas. Vincent had done an admirable job, but he was allowed. He was family. The Grandfather. Me? So far, I was nothing but a mockery of what I should have been.

* * *

I found Nadir sitting outside on the veranda, gazing at the expanse of the island behind the house. He glanced at me briefly before he moved his feet from the railing so I could pass through. 

"Going well?" he asked quietly.

"As well as can be expected."

"Erik...," he began, but I cut him off with an impatient gesture.

"I know why you didn't tell me," I bit out. "It doesn't make it easier, or make me less angry, but I know you did it for Nicolas. I wasn't, and am still not a model father. I'm not even a good man."

"I wanted to tell you. I brought up Corsica several times after I found you, but you started screaming at me before I could even finish. For awhile I thought maybe you knew, but when I talked to Laure, she said there was no way," he sighed, "I did it because I could see where you were headed, and I didn't think Nicolas should have been exposed to that."

I clenched my fists around the railing, summoning the last of my sanity to leash the anger in, to control my pain.

"It wasn't your place," I said begrudgingly, "but you did the right thing," I paused, "if you ever lie to me again, you had better know exactly where to hide. I can't take much more, Nadir. In fact, I don't think I can bear anymore at all."

"I think you should know what is being said about her in the village," he said slowly.

I turned to face him, seeing a hesitation in his eyes that I was growing accustomed to. My old friend was tired of interfering in everyone else's lives.

"What is it?"

"They are saying that she isn't married."

"Not married?" I asked incredulously, "What would possess her to make up something like that?"

"Possibly to protect Nicolas. The people in town have been calling him a bastard. He is known for bloodying a nose if a word is even whispered about Laure, but he just laughs if they say anything to him," he said nervously, "...he tells them there are worse things than being a bastard."

"That boy is going to break me," I said weakly, feeling the rug of sanity slip from my feet once more.

"He's fifteen. You still have a lot of years left...," he began.

"Years? I may have to endure this for years?" I said scathingly, "I'll be lucky if I last a week."

"I'm sorry he found those letters."

"Better for him to have read them, than for me to have to explain it," I said dismissively, "I don't think I could explain it to myself."

"Maybe you should tell him about Persia."

"Yeah," I scoffed, "that would _really_ win him over."

"Then tell him about your life before Persia. I know it wasn't easy." he said.

There was more of me inside of him that he would ever admit. If I was right, it was going to take a whole lot more than a sob story to get through to him. I still had no idea how much of myself I was willing to reveal, even to him. Some things are better left unsaid.

But if you don't say them, who will ever care?


	16. Cornered

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

My father, as always, was able to calm me down, make me realize how foolish I was behaving. He was a stern and caring man, but not above dealing with emotional displays from me, or my mother. Whenever we would become upset, a few words were all it took to bring peace back into our hearts, and into his life. My mother had always carefully avoided saying anything about Erik. Whenever I had told them everything, she had been ashen faced, and hadn't spoken hardly a word. My father had held me and told me I had done the right thing. My mother had pampered me and brought me some tea.

I didn't blame her for not wanting to bring up what had happened. She had been friends with the Messere family until Pascal had been murdered, and I had disappeared. The Messere's lived on Sardinia, and my father had done some trading with their family. When Pascal's body had been found, they had accused my family of covering up his murder while I had ran away with a lover. My father had insisted that I had been abducted, but no one would listen. Not until I returned anyway. Then they were only too ready to believe I had suffered such a fate. Etienne Sagesse had been born to quell those rumors. Nicolas had never questioned the tall tale I had spun, and somehow knew that my marriage was not real. Whenever I would travel to Bastia I would take him with me, and we would spend several weeks in the city before traveling back to Ajaccio.

"Laure?" my mother asked hesitantly, "How did everything go after we left last night?"

I knew what she was asking. She wanted to know if Erik had proved to be as much of a living, breathing terror as he had been in the theater. His time in Persia had worried her, but like me, the deliberate extortion in Paris was what got us. In Persia he had been forced to do many of those things. If the hadn't, he would have been killed. Paris was different.

"Fine," I said cheerfully, "everything went fine. I'm sure Erik considers the room I gave him far more comfortable than that cabin on the Odyssey."

"Oh," she murmured politely, "and Nicolas? Is he doing okay?"

"He's nervous, but that can be expected. I think he's going to be fine though. It may take awhile, but I think Erik will have enough patience for him," I said truthfully.

"I hope everything works out," she said, wringing her hands around a dish towel.

I stepped up and gave her a quick hug, "It will be. Now, I have to get back to the house. I can hardly hide here all day."

"You come back here if he...if anything upsets you," she said worriedly.

I gave her a reproachful look and kissed her cheek before going out their back door and heading to my house. It was mid-day, and I could see the maid, Nina, sweeping leaves from the veranda.

Autumn is my favorite time on the island, and I love to paint the landscape with the brilliant variegated shades of red, orange, brown, and yellow. The blending and fading of greenery from the summer foliage, and the descent into a dry and barren winter landscape was magnificent. When I absolutely love a piece I have completed, I give it to my parents. I know that they love the island as much as I do, and that they appreciate my work.

No one else does. Being a woman, and a painter, do not necessarily go hand in hand with success. There have been some women who have received praise for their work, but it is usually posthumously. I find it ironic that people can achieve fame only after their death, when the works of their life are what is extraordinary.

Nadir was sitting on the veranda, his boots propped against the rail in casual elegance. When he saw me, he stood immediately, ever proper, always polite.

"Laure," he murmured, "please forgive me. I hope we are not disturbing the peace in your home."

"I find it is nice to have guests," I said, smiling apprehensively, "please sit down...there is something I'd like to ask you."

He looked at me attentively for a moment, but complied.

"I have something to ask you," I began hesitantly, "I...Erik told me after I left that the khanum drugged him. Do you know anything about this?"

"Yes," he said slowly, leaning in closer to me, "she gave him ahkatz. Very powerful, causes disturbing visions in some, and...other things in other people. It is also highly toxic. I think she may have been trying to kill him."

"Could it cause...," I broke off, blushing, wondering if this was really any of my business, "...sensual images? Make you forget something?"

He leaned back suddenly, his face tightening, "I don't think this conversation is appropriate, Madame Sagesse. Whatever Erik experienced under that drug is personal. If he wishes to share it with you, then that is for him to decide."

Wounded, I stepped away from him, turning to face the island. No, it wasn't my business. Erik had told me what had happened, and as hard as it was to believe, I had to face it. He didn't remember me. He didn't remember that night. It wasn't my business, because to both of them, I was a married woman.

"Thank you, Nadir. I apologize for being nosy," I said softly, then turned and went into the house.

I went up to the studio and was unlocking the door when Erik's door opened, and he looked out at me. We stared at each other for several moments, before I finally opened the door and stepped inside, locking it firmly behind me.

* * *

Nicolas knocked on the door to the studio, announcing it was nearly time for dinner. I opened the door and stepped out into the hall with him, avoiding his amused smile when I locked the door. Apparently the only place that was sacred in my house was my studio, since my son had already invaded the personal space of my bedroom when he found Nadir's letters. 

"What were you painting?"

"Just finishing up a landscape. Did everything go okay today?" I asked quietly.

He glanced back to the door at the end of the hall, then guided me away from the studio towards the stairs.

"He came down to the docks for awhile," he said evasively.

"Did you speak to him?" I prodded gently.

"Briefly."

"Nicolas, you used to be eager to meet him. You told me all the time how much you wished he was able to come around. Surely there is still something there," I said desperately.

His face seemed to be carved in stone as he turned to look at me, "You told me one time that you were a...gift. After I found those letters, I...," he looked away, "...I realized what a harem really was. I realized what that meant for you. He...he forced you to...,"

_"No!"_

We both turned at the supreme rage in Erik's voice. He was standing in the hall behind us, glowering at us both with a white hot anger that made me step back suddenly. Nicolas sensed my fear, and moved in front of me.

"Stay away from us," Nicolas whispered, his voice laced with apprehension and anxiety.

I gripped his coat, pulling him around to me, "Wait. _Stop_, both of you." I looked at Erik, seeing his clenched fists, the rigidity of his entire body.

"No one forced me to do anything," I said quickly, glancing back to Nicolas, "and you are too young to be hearing about it anyway."

"Right!" he said vehemently, "Like you just went willingly," he snorted.

"He did it so that I could live!" I exploded, "You don't know anything about what happened!"

"Because you've never told me!" he shouted back, "You think I'm a child, that I'm incapable of understanding anything! At least tell me whether or not I was a product of his _unwanted_ affections."

I felt trapped. My son had backed me into a corner, and I wished desperately that I had never invited Erik into the house. I was caught between wanting to tell Nicolas that it was none of his business, and telling him the truth. If I did that, it would embarrass us all to no end, me in particular. I finally managed to whisper, "They were not unwanted. I have never regretted what happened."

"Why? Because it led to me?" he asked scathingly.

"My reasons are not open for discussion," I said tightly, avoiding looking at Erik, "and are certainly none of your concern. If anyone was pressured, it was him. He gained nothing out of it, and it saved my life."

"What about me?" he narrowed his eyes, and I saw a glimpse of hurt in them.

"Of course he gained you, Nicolas," I whispered, "and it is up to you to decide if you will let him make up for lost time."

His eyes flickered to Erik suddenly, but his face turned back into stone. He backed away from us both, then turned on his heel and fled down the hallway. My chin sank to my chest as a bitter flow of tears surfaced. I placed my hand against my mouth to stifle a sob, but it escaped, sounding as loud as a scream in the narrow hallway.

"Laure?"

I heard Erik moving behind me, closing in until I could feel his body heat against my back, even though we weren't touching.

"Why didn't you tell him the truth? Are you ashamed...of what you had to do?"

"What I _had_ to do?" I said angrily, turning around to glare at him, "I didn't have to do anything. I chose to do it, and no I am not _ashamed_ of _anything_," I stuck my index finger against his chest, pushing in forcefully, "and you don't remember it, so don't mention it to me again. The only thing between us is Nicolas, and you'd best remember it, or you'll be sleeping back on the Odyssey!

His eyes widened in shock, and he looked down at my hand in astonishment. I started poking him again sharply, emphasizing my point.

He grabbed my hand suddenly, then my other one as I reached up to pry his fingers from mine, then held my arms out to my sides.

"I never said I didn't _remember_ it," he said hoarsely, "I said I didn't think it was _real."_

I struggled in his grasp, but he held me with the ease of a moth within a cat's paws, pulling me closer until I was absorbed by his shadow, unable to see anything but his face as I turned mine up to look at him in nervous anticipation.

"I remember far more than I ever wanted to," he said raggedly, "more than any man should have to, when he has pledged to live in solitude for the rest of his days. More than I thought I could endure."

"You...you never came," I cried suddenly, cursing myself for being weak, for betraying anything at all to him.

"Thats not entirely true," he whispered, "not true at all."

I stilled in his arms, feeling as light as the air. His words swept away the weight of pain that had been around my heart, knocking away the shackles of iron that imprisoned it there.

"What?" I whispered, choking on emotion so raw and consuming I could barely speak.

"I came here, but the people in town said you had married. You were off meeting Etienne," he said harshly, "you weren't here. I...I thought what the khanum said was real. You were rewarded for...causing me to hallucinate."

_"Etienne?" _I repeated weakly.

He released me when I said the name, stepping back as if he had been stung with sudden awareness.

"Forgive me, Madame Sagesse," he said quietly, "I shouldn't be having this conversation with you."

"I-I...yes," I said quickly, grasping at the only straw left that was extended to me: my own lie, "Yes, we should definitely not be having this conversation. Excuse me," I whispered, then turned to stumble down the hall to my room.

I flung myself on the bed the way I used to when I was a child, burying my face in the pillow and screaming into it like a spoiled little girl. I threw myself a great tantrum, then finally sobbed into the cool linen, hating myself for not being strong enough to take what I wanted, for not being able to tell him the truth.

_He had come for me!_

My heart rejoiced in the words, even as my mind told me to ignore them. Everything I had wanted, what I had wanted for him to do, he had done. My own lie had kept us apart. By protecting my son from gossip around me, I had once again denied him his father. I had denied myself...something...that was undefinable.

I couldn't imagine Erik as anything other than what he was.

Cold, aloof, far too intelligent and fascinated by so many aspects of life, yet living apart from it entirely. He wasn't the sort of man you could bare your heart to, and expect the love and affection to be returned. He was injured, wounded inside by the hate and neglect that the world had forced upon him, and he had responded to the hurt and pain in a most unusual way: by becoming what they said he was.

Or trying his best to.

I knew that what he had done in Persia had not been for pleasure. The khanum would have killed him, just as easily as anything that had happened in the morbid rooms he built for her. While he would be away for weeks at a time, trying to complete the palace for the shah, she would arrange her own little experiments and sideshows for her disgusting and horrifying appetite, hoping that when he returned, he would be impressed by her devices.

He had not been. He had never been amused by her, except for when he could mock her for whining, telling her she was spoiled and lazy. His very hostile and unbending attitude only inspired her to arrange more deaths, more bloodshed. We were all forced to watch these displays, and I knew what the difference was between her gloating over the victorious defeat of a weaker human, and the careless indifference Erik displayed when he was forced to entertain the khanum.

He wasn't the sort of man you just pledged yourself to as foolishly as I had all these years. I was terrified that he would turn me away, just as he had that night in his apartment. He hadn't wanted me then, and most certainly didn't want me now. I stayed in my room the rest of the evening, telling Nina to make my apologies, but that I was unable to attend supper that evening, and refused to take a tray.

As the sun lowered over the horizon in the western sky, I moved mechanically from my bed to gaze out at the beauty and splendor of Corsica and the sea. The sight filled me with peace, calming my raging heart, erasing my thoughts. The colors seemed more brilliant, and I was suddenly more aware of the crimson and purple hues that streaked the sky. I watched the beauty unfold before me, then fade into the waning twilight of dusk. When all was silent in the house, and darkness had finally descended on the island, I left my room to go back to the studio.

I froze when I reached the unlocked and slightly open door, then shoved it wide asI heard a noise inside. The man inside turned slightly from his position near the stack of canvases in the corner, his fingers letting them slide back to the wall as he turned to me in a clearly baffled manner.

_"Why?" _he whispered, an edge of anger to his voice, _"What is the meaning of this?"_


	17. Beautiful Things

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

There were thirty six of them in all. _Thirty six_. Thirty seven if I included the one still wet on the easel, one obviously only done in the last two days since I had arrived. When I had first come in here, I was astounded by the beauty she portrayed in her work. It was obviously something she was more than passionate about. Something she lost herself in, as much as I did my music. I liked to draw, and liked to paint as well myself. Over the years, it had been Christine's face that had obsessively come across my canvas. But_ she_ had perfected her technique, and indeed, it was _art. _Paintings of everything imaginable were on the walls of the studio, from the majesty of Corsica, to some of fiery Persian deserts, and some I thought must have been of her voyage to and from Mazanderan.

But the ones I stood near now had stopped my heart cold. Thirty six paintings of me. _Me!_

Wearing the old mask that I had given Nadir when I left Persia to cover my identity with that of an enemy soldier to the shah. They were all painfully accurate, from my eyes, to the stance I represented in most of them. Only a few of them were obviously a scene which she had conjured on her own. As far as I knew, she had never seen me on horseback, and I had most certainly never sat in her parlor near the fire, with a forgotten wine glass on the floor next to my trailing fingers...

But she had painted me with the regal bearing of a king. Through her misguided brush strokes, I had become something other than a man in a mask. I stared at her now with a cold, near vengeful feeling, wanting to punish her for doing something so...so...damned _personal_ I felt like she had stepped inside me and ripped my heart out.

"_Why?"_ I repeated again, barely able to speak as I alternated between fascination and rage.

"Get out," she whispered icily, her face paling, "you _bastard_, I want you to leave right now."

"I want an explanation," I insisted, stepping into the center of the room.

"No."

_"No?"_ I spread my arms wide, "You are _refusing?_"

"You're damned right I am. I told you...this place is off limits. Nicolas is not even allowed in here," she said hoarsely, "you have no right to be in here."

I pointed to the canvasses with an accusing finger, "You have a right to paint me? I did not give you my permission,_ Madame. _What would your husband say? I have yet to see his face gracing your canvas," I smiled wickedly, "or is it true what I have heard? That you have no husband?"

She reached blindly for the door to the studio, trying to step back into the hall and close it between us. I caught the door just before it shut, yanking it angrily. I was tired of these games. All I wanted was my son, and now this woman was messing with emotions and my worthless sense of hope that I had shoved away, wanting to never feel again.

"Are you married?" I demanded, grabbing her by the elbow and pulling her back into the room.

She clamped her mouth closed, staring vacantly across the room. I noticed a glimmer of tears swimming in her hazel eyes, but I shoved away the guilt.

"Laure, I asked you a question. Are you refusing to answer me?" I gritted, then slammed the door to her studio, closing us in the room together.

"Just leave me alone," she muttered, trying to spin away from me. I pushed her against the wall, bracing my hands on either side of her, trapping her. She wasn't going to find it so easy to escape.

"I want an answer, and I want one now!"

"No!" she shouted at me, finally looking me in the eyes with all the malevolence of an injured lioness.

"No, you aren't married, or no, you won't answer me?" I continued angrily, slapping my palms against the wall beside her head, making her flinch.

"I-I'm not married," she whispered, "I never have been."

Tears fell from her eyes, and she crossed her hands across her stomach, trying to double over to hide from me. Her head rested against my chest instead, and she drew back fearfully, tossing her head side to side to try and get away from me.

"Please, let me go."

"Laure," I whispered her name, feeling a tremor of pain through my body. She was hurting more than she had that night I made her leave my room. I remembered her pleas for me to allow her to stay, although it was constantly clouded by other images, other sensations.

She began to shake suddenly, her shoulders rattling against the wall as sobs tore through her. I put my hands on her arms hesitantly, but she only tensed more beneath me.

"If there is any decency left inside of you, you will release me," she said tightly.

"There has never been any decency inside me," I said softly, but I stepped away from her until I could no longer smell the soft flowery odor in her hair.

She stalked angrily over to the corner of the room and threw the cast aside sheet back over the canvasses, then one over the more recent one as well.

"Get out," she said succinctly, glaring at me.

"I want you to destroy those...those atrocious things," I said curtly.

"No."

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to control the leap of rage that threatened to surface again. _No one_ told me no. I certainly wasn't going to take it from a woman.

"Burn them!" I roared, wanting to throw something, wanting to wring her neck.

"They are _not _atrocious! I only paint _beautiful_ things, and they are not your concern. That isn't you. The man I thought you were doesn't exist!" she snapped, going over to the easel and plucking the new painting off, "Here. This is all you get from me. Now get out!"

Numbly, I stumbled backwards as she steadily pushed me out the door, using the painting for leverage to move me when I tried to sullenly push back inside. With one last shove she kicked me out then slammed the door. I dimly heard the lock click, but it was a long time before I realized I was staring at a white door, holding a wet painting.

What the hell had she meant by that?

_I only paint beautiful things! _

I turned suddenly, seeing Nicolas across the hallway watching me with dark humor in his eyes. He glanced down at the paint smearing my hands and clothing, at the canvas in my trembling hands.

"I can't believe you got caught," he said mockingly, "after all, the _Phantom _should have used a little more caution. She really is peculiar about her studio. You should be more careful next time."

When I tried to speak and couldn't, when I slumped against the wall behind me, dropping the painting with a sudden horror and disbelief, he stepped closer to me a little. I gasped for breath, trying to close a sudden image of her out of my mind, of her painting of us together, staring at each other under the Persian sky. The last time we had ever seen each other.

"Are you okay, old man?"

I swallowed and nodded, unable to even bother defending my age at that point.

"Would you like to go play for the sea?" he asked hesitantly.

I raised my head slowly, unsure if I had heard correctly.

"Play for the sea?" I repeated.

He looked embarrassed momentarily, but nodded, "Down to the cove. I go there to think."

My heart swelled suddenly in hope and love. My son wanted to play music with me. He wouldn't play for anyone else, but he wanted to play with me. I wasn't sure if I could take much more surprises today.

"Nicolas," I said softly, "I would be honored. But please don't ask me any questions tonight. I...I've had enough for one day."

His eyes widened briefly, but he nodded, "Let's go then."

I followed him to a beautiful hillside slope, then down to a beach that ran down into the sea with a sheer beauty that took my breath away, even in the darkness. He carried two violin cases, walking carefully so that he didn't disturb the integrity of the instruments. He sat them carefully on the sand, then bounded up high onto the rock beside it, indicating that I should hand him his violin. I did, then stepped back, watching his silhouette in the darkness.

As the bow slid across the strings for the first time, I closed my eyes, losing myself as much as he was in the music. He was playing something I had never heard before, and I wondered if he had written it. It was stunningly beautiful, deceptively simple, yet even as he continued I could detect the skillful bowing techniques he had mastered, such as the double stop and pizzicato. It wasn't as dark as the works I have composed, yet it was nonetheless haunting and woeful. He forgot I was there as he played, and I think forgot the world even existed. I couldn't see his face in the darkness, just his head angled into the chin rest, and his body in perfect form as he played.

I was crying without realizing it, and grateful that he couldn't see me as I slipped the mask off and dried my eyes. He closed in a long and mournful note, effectively ripping the last of my heart out with his careless and unknowing enthusiasm.

He sat down on the rock, offering me the instrument. I turned my back, putting my mask back on, then took the violin, feeling oddly nervous for the first time in the face of a performance. It was the first time I had played since the theater. My hands trembled again, and I drew a deep breath before I raised the instrument, playing something I had written after I left Persia. It was as dark and ominous as anything else I had written, and I poured my heart into it, hoping it could reach out somehow and wrap around him, make him see something other than the mask, other than what I had portrayed in Paris. I hoped I was more than a ghost to him. I hoped I was more than that to myself. I closed my eyes, never hearing him move from the rock, never hearing the case snap open to the other instrument. As I finished, he immediately said to me in a soft voice, "Corelli's Sonata three, C Major."

Wordless I began, nearly breaking string when I heard his violin pick up with mine. I had never played with anyone before. It wasn't nearly as effortless as it looked, but somehow we managed to stay in harmony, perfecting an ageless and beautiful song that I had played only once before. Each time we finished, he would demand another song, from a different composer, clearly trying to find something that I had never played.

It was well after midnight before he finally sighed, putting his instrument back into its case. I felt the numbness and stiffness in my fingers, caused from the months of neglect of not playing every day. I put my violin up and handed him the case. I turned back to the sea, staring at the reflection of the moon on the water.

"Aren't you coming?" he asked warily.

"Why doesn't your mother like you to come down here?" I asked quietly.

"This is where Pascal died, and where they stole her. She hates the sea. Yet, I don't think anyone could persuade her to leave," he replied.

"So why do you come down here?" I asked softly.

It was a long time before he responded, and I began to wonder if he would at all. He turned his head towards me, and as I watched from the corner of my eye, I could make out a vague expression on his face, one of wide eyed fear.

"I-I play for the sea," he mumbled, "but I used to play for you."

He turned and ran up the hillside, and I watched him go with an odd mixture of relief and agony. He had finally opened up, just a little, but I was finding it harder and harder to do so. Even to him. Even to my own flesh and blood. I knew I had precious little time to spend with him, before he did as his heart yearned to do, to take off and see the world. I felt like I was holding a broken hour glass, and time would never stop, and its destination was not to the bottom of the cylinder, but somewhere unknown. I only hoped the grains did not scatter in the wind, tearing us any farther apart than we already were.

I sank onto the beach, resting my chin against my knees, and my back against the rock. I wondered who Pascal was, and if Laure had been more afraid of me than the pirates who had taken her. I wondered what she had meant by me never existing.

_I only paint beautiful things!_

Those words were going to haunt me forever.

**I really like this chapter...so please review!**


	18. The Dangerous Man

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

I was sitting at the table, scowling at the morning light, glaring into my coffee cup, ignoring Nadir and Nicolas as they ate in determined silence. I hadn't slept at all last night. Between hiding the thirty some odd canvasses beneath my bed, and spending the rest of the night in mute misery, refusing to cry again, I was exhausted. My nerves were jangling like the resounding echo of a church bell, and my heart felt as if it was once again in utter chaos. As I sat there in misery, the object of my thoughts entered the room hesitantly, earning a murderous look from me, and a slow smile by Nicolas.

I stared at him in astonishment. He was _smiling_ at Erik, and even stood up to offer him the chair next to me. He moved stiffly forward, barely glancing at me as he murmured a good morning.

"Morning," I said gruffly, keeping my eyes on my coffee.

"Would you like to go out in the sloop today?" Nicolas asked Erik softly, "I can take off for a few hours."

Erik looked at Nicolas in surprise, but nodded, "Sailing is one thing I've never had much experience with, but maybe you could show me a few things."

Nicolas grinned, the way that he used to, and it made my heart soften. He was looking at his father in the way I had always wanted, carefree, open, almost loving.

"I have to say, though," he paused, "I think you would be better suited to music," he placed a hand across his heart, "I don't think I've ever experienced anything quite like what I heard last night."

My jaw dropped open, and I looked back to Nicolas, who was blushing, but still had a grin on his face.

"Ships will always be my first love."

Erik nodded slowly, then accepted a cup of coffee from Nina. He glanced at me for a moment and our eyes met before I looked back to my own drink. I felt like my nerves were going to propel me from the chair, then out through the roof. Nicolas kissed my cheek quickly then announced that he was going to the docks. Nadir stood, avoiding my desperate attempt to catch his eye, then followed him from the room.

We sat in silence alone, neither of us willing to speak, if merely to excuse ourselves. I gripped my hand around my cup, allowing the heat to burn my hand slightly in an attempt to distract myself from him sitting so close to me. He picked at the plate of food that Nina brought in, never taking a bite, just moving it around his plate before he pushed it away.

"Nicolas approached me last night," he said huskily, "he took me down to the cove."

"T-that's good," I managed tightly.

"We played together. The violin," he said softly, "he's...magnificent."

"I'm glad you found some common ground," I said, struggling to keep my voice level.

"Thank you for him. I-I thought I'd be alone forever. I can't describe...," he broke off, swallowing suddenly, "...I'm sorry if I wasn't who you thought I was. I can't remember if I ever lied to you, but it isn't something I make a habit of. I'm sorry for a lot of things, but mostly that I hurt you in some way. I never meant to."

"Do you think you can apologize for what you did last night, and make everything okay?" I asked harshly, "You think that excuses you? You are a guest in my home. That can be changed very quickly, _sir_, I assure you."

He reached over suddenly and took my hand in his. I tried to snatch it back, but he held it easily, running a long finger across my palm as he cupped the back of it.

"I'm not sorry I broke into your studio," he said mildly.

"W-what?" I asked incredulously, turning around to look at him.

He repeated the move across my palm, drawing a lazy circle in the center that made my breath catch with increasing difficulty.

"I'm not sorry about that," he repeated slowly, as if I had a hard time understanding him, "I'm sorry I hurt you in some way. Either in Persia, or my failure to live up to your expectations as a man, or as a father. I'm sorry you don't like how I chose to live in Paris, but you have no right to judge me for wanting peace and solitude. Not after what I have experienced. I just wanted to stay as far away from people as I could. Then _she_ had to come into the theater. She ruined everything," he said emphatically, his nostril flaring slightly, "she ruined me. I didn't want her. I didn't want any of it," he looked into my eyes then, drawing another slow circle around my hand, "at first. So don't condemn me for needing something as normal and everyday as love. Don't you dare."

He released my hand, which I immediately curled into a fist, not wanting to lose the sensations that the simple touch had brought me. He pushed away from the table and left me there, astounded into silence, and once again on the verge of tears.

I finally understood the strange and jumbled words of Nadir's last letter. He had told me that Erik had finally gotten Christine the part he wanted, in the opera he had written. The girl had unmasked him in front of everyone, and he'd stolen her from the stage. When he had her downstairs, the girl's young and handsome fiance had followed them and tried to free her, but Erik had made her choose between her freedom and her lover's life.

I hadn't understood why Erik would do something like that. I never realized how desperately he had needed a woman. I never understood that he thought he was unworthy of one. Not with the commanding presence he had. Not with the way he could reduce me to a quivering, yearning girl every time he stood near me. He had never acted like he needed or wanted me, and I had assumed he was indifferent to us all. Obviously Christine had touched him somehow. I had been jealous of her for quite sometime now.

What did she have that I didn't?

I was still sitting there when Nina came in to clear the dishes, and with mechanical movements I went into the library, burying my nose in one of Stendhal's works, not reading or comprehending a word. I could still feel his finger tracing over my hand. I could hear the pain in his voice, read the tragedy of what had occurred in his eyes.

I realized how horribly wrong I had been to expect so much out of him, and he hadn't even known a blooming thing about Nicolas, or was even sure that I had been with him. It still hurt, that the night hadn't had as much meaning for him, or that he couldn't distinguish fantasy from reality enough, but I knew it wasn't his fault. I had such a twisted mind that I had pictured him as above reproach, as never making mistakes. I should have realized Erik was a man, and they are quite capable of making the worst ones.

"Madame Sagesse?"

I looked up to see Oman standing in the doorway.

"There are some ladies here to see you," he said politely.

I stood up, my mouth turning down into a frown, "Who are they?"

"From the village," he shrugged carelessly, "may I show them in?"

"Of course."

I tossed the book onto the desk and stood, watching in bewilderment as three women came into the library, looking around the room in fascination. I recognized two of them, but not the third.

"Madame Sagesse," one of them exclaimed, "I'm Maria Pollo, and these two ladies I'm sure you know."

"Madame Brounson, Madame Guiseppe," I murmured politely, "what brings you to my home this morning?"

"Oh, dear," Maria Pollo tittered slightly, "I was just wanting to meet you. I've been living in the village for years, and I've never met you."

I raised my brow slightly, looking at the other two women.

Madame Brounon cleared her throat, "Actually, we came by because of Nicolas."

"Nicolas?" I asked in puzzlement, "What has he done?"

"Well, we've seen him this morning near the docks in the company of a very dangerous looking man. We thought you might want to know. He looked positively evil!" Maria Pollo whispered nervously.

My jaw dropped open for the second time that morning, "Why? Because he wears a mask?"

They all looked at me as if I had grown two heads. I braced my hands on the desk and leaned forward to glare at them.

"You know about this? You've met him?"

"Of course I've met him! He's Nicolas's father!" I said angrily, but instantly regretted the words.

"He's Etienne Sagesse?" Madame Guiseppe asked incredulously, "No wonder he's never been here before!"

They all laughed suddenly, and I smacked my hands across the desk, causing all sounds within the room to cease.

"You have no right to say anything about him. You don't know him. I suggest you gossip mongers get out of my house before I _assist_ you," I said sharply, "and I also suggest you keep your mouths shut."

"That sounds dangerously like a threat," Maria Pollo gasped, backing away from me.

"_Get out_."

They all left in a stunning swirl of gowns and gasps, retreating to the hall then out the door. I sank into a chair, wishing I had told Oman that I wasn't in, or had just handled it better. I was not good with people anymore. And their insinuations and nosiness had angered me, when I was already raw and emotional. I knew with a sudden fear that I had destroyed the careful respect that Nicolas had built for himself around the island. I had acted like a mad woman, giving away far too much to those brainless twits.

I was staring vacantly into space when my father came in the house, slamming my front door then storming into the library.

"Laure? Are you okay?" he demanded.

"I messed up," I mumbled, "Nicolas is going to be ostracized because of me."

"No. He'll be fine," he scowled, "Madame Brounon's husband just paid me a visit. He was making threats about Erik, but I think I may have persuaded him to let it go."

"Erik? Why would he threaten Erik?" I asked in alarm, "What could he do?"

"He can't do anything. Erik hasn't done anything wrong, and no one knows who he is," he said soothingly.

"Where are they now?" I asked, feeling a sudden onset of panic.

"They're still in the sloop. Now you just settle down, girl," he said sternly, "they can take care of themselves."

"They think Erik is Etienne."

He pursed his lips, "Let them think what they want. No one can prove anything."

I sighed heavily, struggling to control my raging nerves, "Those women...,"

"Are imbeciles. Brainless little busybodies who have nothing better to do than stir up trouble. Now I want you to go upstairs and rest, or paint, or do something while I go down to the docks and try to catch Erik and Nicolas before they run into anyone."

I shook my head, "I'll wait here," I looked up to him, "send Nicolas straight home."

"I will," he patted my head, "if anyone else comes up here, send them to me."

He strode out of the library, slamming my door again as he left. I slumped into the chair, wondering if there was anymore more foolish in the world than me.


	19. A Magician's Secrets

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

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I'm going to attempt to incorporate some the allure of Erik using magic and sleight of hand illusions, things like that. Some of the things I'll use...if you ever come across these things...don't try them. The mixture of Na (sodium) or K (potassium) and water is very violent and dangerous. I don't want to make the tricks sound preposterous, and I don't want to reveal a magicians secrets (not that these things are actually used in a performance), but I do think magic was an important part of his character.

-------------

_Erik_

Thankfully Nicolas had taken no notice to the stares we received before we had finally sailed from the coast. I was astounded and grateful for his innocence. I dreaded when my son realized how people were going to react to me and my presence in his life. Apparently in a community as close knit as this one, it was going to be soon. The boy was going to find out quickly enough the cost of having me for a father.

October was slowly settling in on the island, and I could see why Laure liked to paint the picturesque little village, even if she wasn't welcome there. Mazanderan must have been a terrifying place for someone who had lived in such a setting their entire life.

Nicolas was obliging enough to show me everything he knew about sailing, which proved to be quite thorough. I could tell he was nervous, but he talked the entire time, mostly about his ship and what he wanted to do in the future.

"So you think you might want to go to Britain?" I asked carefully, leaning against the rails of the sloop.

"I _know_ I do, but I've been holding off until Mother says I can go. She's going to be alone once I leave," he paused, "and I know the people in the village are going to start bothering her again."

"Again?"

He looked at me, grinning with a self assured look, "They don't anymore. Not around me anyway."

"It's good that you protect her, but no one wins in a fight. And it just makes people all the more curious. Like you have something to hide," I said softly.

He turned his head towards me slightly, studying the mask with a slow and intense scrutiny. I didn't look away as he stared at me, and he finally returned his attention to the boom, sailing us in an arc around the peninsula.

"I read some letters from her bureau, the ones your friend Nadir had sent, and I started getting a newspaper from Paris every once in a while. You were always mentioned in it," he said quietly.

"Those newspapers were appallingly inaccurate. I hardly eat children, and I have never harmed a woman. But certain...threats were needed to keep people away from me. I couldn't...tolerate...living in society any longer. Not after I left Persia." I said cautiously, "There is more hatred in this world than you can possibly imagine."

"Will you tell me the truth about Persia?"

I drew a deep breath, looking back out over the sparkling water, "Your mother doesn't want you to know...and I'm not sure I do either," I closed my eyes, trying to summon the courage to tell him the truth, and failing, "if she wants to tell you I have no objections. But it should be her decision, since she raised you."

"I heard you fighting last night. You really upset her," he said, "and it takes a lot for her to actually curse _and_ yell."

"They are mutually exclusive events?" I chuckled, "I am honored to have broken such a logical theory."

I reached into my pocket and withdrew a gold coin, rolling it absently across my knuckles, sliding it through my palm onto the other hand, deftly switching sides until I became aware that Nicolas was watching my movements with fascination.

"How did you do that?"

"This?" I asked, bemused, then switched hands again.

His eyes widened, and caught the coin when I tossed it to him. I withdrew another from my pocket and settled against the deck of the boat, performing the trick again and again to his consternation, and he never witnessed the switch.

"I used to do performances," I said softly, "various little tricks, ventriloquism," I looked at him with a wicked grin, "I'm also a thief and a prankster. The world has suffered much for my amusement. Sometimes it is the only thing I have taken comfort in."

Reaching into my pocket I withdrew a small packet wrapped in kerosene laced linen and removed a soft silvery substance.

"Throw this as far as you can away from us into the water," I handed it to him, "be careful," I paused, "and don't tell your mother."

He smiled, but took the small square, examining it carefully, "What is this?"

"A magician never reveals his secrets," I smiled, then added, "but it is sodium metal."

He looked at me doubtfully, but hurled the substance into the sea, crouching instinctively when it exploded on contact with the surface, sending a spray of smoke and water twelve feet into the air before raining back down, dousing us both.

He turned to look at me in astonishment and I laughed at the look in his eyes. He had obviously never been exposed to the sort of life I had lived and pursued when I was his age.

"Do you have more?" he asked eagerly, shaking water from his hair and clothes.

"It wouldn't be wise, considering that we are both already wet. If that stuff gets near water...," I indicated the smoke still billowing on the water surface, "...it isn't something you want repeated near your body."

He looked at his fingers suddenly, as if the residue from the sodium might be enough to be cause for concern. He wiped his hands against his shirt, looking at the water for a moment.

"What else can you do?"

By the time we returned to the island I was sure I had thoroughly corrupted him. I prayed that he dared not practice his new tricks, specifically those of pick pocketing. If Laure found out what I had been teaching him there was no doubt she would be furious, but it had made him laugh and smile, and I could see no harm in causing delight in both him and myself.

My amusement soon vanished as I saw Vincent step out of the office with a grim look upon his face. Nicolas was still talking away, but as we approached his voice trailed off suddenly, his body tensing beside me.

"Grandfather? Is everything okay?" he asked quickly.

Vincent avoided my eyes as he spoke to him, "Your mother wants to see you. Go on up," he said gruffly.

I placed my hand on his shoulder suddenly, surprising us both, "If there is something you need to say to me, you can do it now."

He turned to look at me warily, and I sensed his reluctance to speak in front of Nicolas.

"Laure had some visitors today who were..._concerned_...about his companion."

I tightened my grip on his shoulder, and he turned to look at me for a moment.

"What do you mean," he asked Vincent.

"He means," I said slowly, "that I have attracted attention to myself, and to you. He means that I have worn out my welcome here."

"No!" Vincent said vehemently, "That is not what I meant at all," he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "not at all. But Laure was considerably upset, and she threatened some of the ladies from the village with bodily harm. I had a visit from an upset husband earlier."

"Mother?" he laughed shakily, "She couldn't hurt a fly!"

"Never underestimate a mother," Vincent said sagely, "and I think her experiences might have toughened her up, just a little."

As he spoke I saw two men starting towards the office, blatantly trying to catch my eye, which I immediately gave them. They looked away, but as they passed I heard one of them whisper, "That's the man Maria was talking about. Wonder what he has under that _thing_. Think he's diseased?"

I didn't hear the other man reply, but the damage had been done. My hand fell away from Nicolas and I pushed past them both, intent on retreating behind the walls of Laure's home long enough for nightfall, or long enough for Nadir to book passage back to the mainland. My hands clenched in rage, and I fought the urge to go back down there and strangle them both. I couldn't! I had far more at stake now than my own life.

I opened the front door and saw Laure moving around the balcony. I ducked into the library, moving into the shadows of a far corner and settling into a chair.

"Nicolas?" she called, then came into the library for a moment. Not seeing me, she turned back out into the hall as the front door opened, "Nicolas! Thank God, I was getting worried. It's nearly dark!"

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly, "They didn't come back here, did they?"

"No. They won't either." she said angrily. "I can't believe the nerve of some people!"

"What did they say?"

"It doesn't matter," she said, her voice softening, "they're gone. Where is your father?"

"I just saw him come in here. You didn't run into him?"

"No. Are you sure?" she said softly, then, "Does he know?"

"Yes. There were some men on the dock...they said something about him and he left. He should have socked them, but he just left."

"They are very lucky he did," she muttered, and I smiled despite the pain I was feeling.

I heard the door to the library open, and I shrank back against the chair, hoping they wouldn't see me in the corner. They didn't, and moved to the opposite side of the room. Nicolas propped against the desk and Laure settled into a chair in front of him.

"Did you two have fun today?" she asked suddenly.

Nicolas smiled in response, but nodded his head, "He said he used to do performances. I didn't know he was a magician."

"I didn't either," she leaned forward slowly, "but he used to frighten the seraglio guards. They said he could shoot fire from his fingers."

"Fire!" he exclaimed, "He didn't mention that!"

"Well, I'm sure they were exaggerating," she said lightly, "no one can do such a thing."

In my palm, I conjured a careful flame, chuckling to myself, but extinguished it almost immediately. I am an observer by nature, and was enjoying hearing my son and his mother talk about me.

It appeared we were all going to be sitting here awhile when Nicolas said softly, "I want you to tell me the truth about Persia."


	20. Nicolas's Trap

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I held my breath, waiting for her response. She was wringing her hands in her lap, avoiding looking Nicolas in the eyes. I really didn't want him to hear about what I had done for the khanum, but I was no longer willing to portray something false, something not real. He deserved to know, deserved to decide if he really wanted anything to do with me, even after all that I had done.

"I don't think the subject is appropriate for your age," she said softly, "and I don't think he wants you, or anyone else to know that much about him."

"He said you could tell me. He left the decision up to you," he said maturely, "I hope you will at least realize that I'm intelligent and capable of hearing whatever it is you have to say. I just want to know more about him."

"Then you should ask him, Nicolas. But you should leave Persia alone. He probably wants to forget it as much as I do," she sad wearily.

"You want to forget it? I...," he began, but she cut him off.

"That wasn't what I was referring to. I meant his...position...for the shah, among other things," she said quietly, "he...he was commissioned to build the palace, but the shah's mother...took an interest in him."

"What sort of interest?" he asked cautiously.

I heard her sigh, as if she was resigned to finally telling my dark secrets. I didn't blame her for not wanting to repeat some of the things I had done. I didn't like to think about them myself. I was a different man then. Not worse, not better, but different.

"She made him design rooms for her...optical illusions...it made people hallucinate. Made them crazy enough to...commit their own murder," she said in a low voice, "there were a lot of people who died in those rooms, and the khanum made all of us watch."

"You had to watch people dying?" he whispered, sliding off the desk to kneel before her, "You saw that?"

"I-I did. Yes I did," she said softly, "if we turned away, she would beat us. I preferred the beating, but if we did it too many times, we would be offered the choice of entering the room as well," she shuddered, "so I watched. I had no choice, really."

"Is that why you...why she sent you to him?"

"Sort of," she said quietly, "I wasn't the first girl, you see. Aysel, a girl my age, which is actually the same age as you are right now, she went to him. Y-your father refused her. But he didn't know what would happen if the girl came back...untouched. The khanum summoned him the next morning so he could see what she had planned. There was nothing he could do. He insulted her and left. She was so furious, she made us all stand in a line so she could beat us, but when she got to me, she must have remembered that I was French," she lowered her head, "she decided that I would be next."

"So you _were _forced," he said coldly.

"No. Not at all," she said shakily, raising her head to look at him, "I was not forced to do anything, Nicolas."

"You would have died instead!" he said harshly.

"I was given a choice! Do you realize what that meant for me?" she said desperately, "I could have been used time and again by the shah, or as a gift for one of his guests, but I was given a_ choice._ As an odalisque, I was still untouched, but once that bridge was crossed, I would have been worthless inside there. You don't understand the power your father had outside of the harem. I thought, if I could just get him to speak with me, to help me, I would do anything...anything to either get out of there...or stay with him until he was free to leave. I-I would have married him, but I wasn't given the option."

Her words sent a shock through my core, rendering my entire body numb. _Married me? _I didn't recall those words ever being used that night. Those words, and my _name_ have never been used in conjuntion.

"Mother...," he began, shaking his head. He moved as if to rise, but she caught his hands and pulled him back down to her.

"He did the _honorable_ thing, Nicolas. It may not have been right, or proper, but we were _both_ caught in circumstances beyond our control. If he hadn't done it, I would have died. I begged him to...practically threw myself at him. He was the one who didn't want it, didn't want _me._ If I had known that he could have gotten me out of there so easily, things might have turned out differently," she said hoarsely, "but then I wouldn't have you. And I wouldn't change that for the world."

"What happened that night? Did...were you hurt?"

She drew a shaky breath, "No. No. I-I was not hurt. Not by your father. When I returned, the _khanum_ beat me. She was not pleased by my response to a...question. I paid Oman to send a message to Nadir or your father. He carried me out of my bedroom that night, through the palace, then out to some horses waiting on the outer wall. Oman guided me through the desert, and has stayed with me ever since."

Nicolas hung his head, his hands trembling as he reached up to hug his mother. She cradled his head against her shoulder, running her hand through his hair.

"I can't say what Erik thinks about what happened, but it was very special to me. I-I...yes...," she whispered tightly, closing her eyes, "...it was special. Don't ever doubt that, son."

"If you had never been kidnapped, you would have married Pascal. You wouldn't have been forced to...to...," he said skeptically.

"It wasn't forced. It didn't _feel _forced. Perhaps it was, technically, but long before they took me there, I knew what I would do. I don't regret it. There was nothing ugly or wrong about it, and I'm not ashamed of it, Nicolas," she cupped his chin in her hand, "if it was such a terrible thing, if I had wanted to forget it, I could have married by now. I could have been with any of the men who asked me on this island," she closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his, "but I didn't. And it wasn't something I wanted to forget."

I was alarmed at the direction the conversation had taken. Her words had caused my heart to stop numerous times, and I felt as if she was sharing far too much with him. She was telling a very different view of what I remember, which isn't much. Except for the hazy sensations, the glorious images, and the whispered words, there was nothing I could recall leading up to the _event. _I wasn't sure what drug _she_ had been given, but I do remember feeling terrified and uncertain, angry and afraid. I don't remember her ever once running from me though. I don't recall her ever screaming at me. That was something, wasn't it?

"What are we going to do about the village?" he murmured finally.

"Nothing," she said flatly, "they can keep their thoughts to themselves. If they come up here looking for trouble, I'll give it to them, but until then just avoid them, and their questions," she paused for a moment, "they think he is Etienne Sagesse. I didn't contradict them, I was too angry to say anything to them at all other than demanding that they leave."

"If you were going to make up a husband, why didn't you just use his name?" he asked suddenly.

"I-I don't know," she sighed, "too obvious, I suppose? I would have been mortified if he had come here and found out I was using his name as protection against them."

"Why don't you just marry him now?"

_"Nicolas!"_ she choked, "You can't just go around asking people stuff like that!" she jumped up suddenly from the chair, looking down in horror at his grinning face, "Your father...he isn't the marrying kind. And I would be the last woman he would ask!"

"Why?" he stood, still looking at her in amusement.

"I think that is enough questions for today! You got what you wanted from me," she said testily, "now go...go see if Nina needs any help!"

"You want me to help the maid?" he asked slowly, a smile spreading across his entire face.

"I don't care what you do, just...just go!" she said, flustered, "Or better yet..."

She turned around and stalked from the library, her cheeks bright red, her eyes wide and dazed looking. I felt just like she did. Shell shocked, down to the core. I wanted to slink off to my room so I could lay on my bed and stare into nothing. Nicolas surprised me though. I had no idea the boy had ever spotted me, and when he spoke, I think I became just as addled as Laure.

"Well, Father, I didn't quite get a declaration of love from her, but it was a start."


	21. A Nervous and Disappointing Night

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Like a coward I fled to my parent's house. After insisting yesterday that I wouldn't be hiding behind them, I was doing so today and was never more grateful for their presence in my life. My mother fussed over me and for once I let her without complaint. She had started cooking the moment I stepped foot inside the house, and was already on her way to having a five course meal prepared, even though it was nearly dinnertime and I would have to be returning home soon. Cooking was her way of venting anger, and she did so as she added spices to the stock.

"Those women," she huffed, slamming a lid onto a pot, "why, I have half a mind to go down there and remind them that their actions were not _Christian._ It is simply aggravating!"

"Now Clare...," my father began, but she waved a ladle at him threateningly, so he closed his mouth.

When her back turned we smiled at each other. She very rarely was like this, but they had dared to say something that could harm Nicolas, and she was very protective of him. It seemed her well intentioned anger was also now extended to Erik.

"What business is it of theirs? Hmm?" she fumed, but when she turned around there were tears sparkling in her eyes.

My father stood immediately and put his arms around her, looking at me in amusement over her head. These tirades never lasted long, and usually ended this way. In another five minutes it would be over, and she would be back to her normal, complacent self.

I left the kitchen and wandered through the house, looking at various paintings that I had done, but ultimately coming to the one I had done of the cove when I had just turned thirteen. The sun had been setting behind the horizon of the Mediterranean, and the sea had been illuminated by the fiery light, making the water seem almost turquoise in color. I haven't been back since the night I was taken from the shore. It used to be my favorite place on the island, but now it was just a reminder of the journey I had been forced to make from my home, when I was far too young to understand any of it.

The thing that hurts the most about what happened is the rumor that I was responsible for Pascal's death. Nothing could have stopped those ruthless men, and I wasn't able to defend myself. Doing so meant the complete ruin of my reputation, as well as those of Nicolas and my parents. Pascal had been a sweet and loving friend, and deserved far better than the cruel death that he received. His murderer was still free, possibly still abducting girls and killing in the same manner.

"Laure?"

I turned when I heard my father's voice, "Yes, Papa?"

"Its dark out. Would you like me to walk you home?"

"Thank you, that would be lovely," I smiled and took his arm.

As we walked along the ridge he occasionally squeezed my hand, turning to give me a wry grin.

"What are you smiling about?" I finally asked in exasperation.

"You never said why you came to the house. I can only assume there is a certain man involved."

"Yes," I muttered, "and it happens to be your grandson! Honestly! I don't know where that _boy _gets his manners, but he was asking the most infernal questions!"

"Nicolas said he heard you two arguing last night. Is everything okay?" he asked gently.

"He broke into my studio," I said tightly, "then he told me he wasn't sorry that he did it! Can you believe that?"

"Well, I can't say I'm surprised. Not after everything you've told me about him. It would seem that a locked door is simply a challenge he can't resist," he chuckled, "and I have no doubt that he finds you fascinating."

I couldn't think of a response to that, and we reached the back door before I ever could. He opened the door for me and stepped back into the darkness.

"Aren't you coming in?"

"No. I have to get back to eat all that food your mother has cooked," he said wryly, "I can't imagine what possessed her to do such a thing this late in the evening. She's going to be up half the night with the dishes."

I kissed his cheek, "Well, perhaps if you help eat it, you should also help clean up!"

He gave me a look of mock horror before turning back into the night. I watched him as he walked along the ridge, feeling very thankful indeed that my father was so good natured, even if he was obviously siding with Erik, and now apparently, Nicolas.

I found Nicolas in the hallway where he was about to put his coat on, "Where are you going, young man?" I demanded.

"Well, I was going to get you," he said, "but since you've finally come home, maybe you'd like to join us both for dinner."

Us both. He had said, _us both._ I would have retreated up the stairs, but Nicolas grabbed my hand and led me into the dining room. I stared at Erik at his place at the head of the table. He was avoiding my eyes, and looked highly uncomfortable as Nicolas pulled my chair out seating me directly to his left. My son was playing his role so well, I half expected him to announce that Erik should say Grace. Erik was obviously thankful that it wasn't required of him, and we all began eating in silence. Nadir was mysteriously absent from the table, so I wasn't even able to speak with him to relieve my nervousness.

Speaking to Erik was unthinkable at this point, and asking Nicolas anything invited him to say anything he pleased.

_Why don't you just marry him now?_

I cast a frightened look at Erik from the corner of my eye, wondering if it were possible for him to hear thoughts. He was brooding into his plate, barely eating a thing. Nicolas caught my eye and smiled carefully, before directing a question to him.

"Father, aren't you hungry?"

Erik looked startled at the address, and looked around a moment perhaps to see if there was another 'father' in the room.

"No. I don't suppose I am," he admitted hoarsely, clutching his hand around his fork tightly.

"Nina is a great cook," he said heartily, ignoring the tension surrounding us, "but not as good as Grandmother. She makes the best cakes, and she really loves compliments on them."

"Thank you for the advice," Erik said dryly.

"She makes me a huge chocolate cake for my birthday every year."

Erik looked at him suddenly, "When is your birthday?" he asked gruffly.

"In July," Nicolas said cheerfully.

"Nine... months away." he said softly.

I knew the moment he calculated in his mind that October sometime would have been around the time he had been conceived. His ears turned red. From that moment on he seemed disinclined to speak again for the rest of the meal.

I don't know who was more relieved to be excused from the table. I went into the library, settling into a chair beside the hearth. Nicolas went outside to retrieve some firewood and came in to build a fire, and Erik hung back in the doorway, looking reluctant to enter, reluctant to leave.

"You can come in," I said quietly, "you're more than welcome."

Nicolas turned from his position on the floor, "You heard her. Come in."

He finally did, sitting in a chair across from me with a slowness I hadn't known he possessed. He reached over to the desk and picked up my copy of Stendhal, thumbing through the pages for a moment before he tossed it back onto the desk.

"Have you given any thought to what you're going to do?" I asked hesitantly.

"Do?"

"You're can stay here as long as you like. The people...they think you are Etienne," I said carefully.

He scowled, "I know."

I looked over to Nicolas, but he was propped against a chair on the floor, pretending to watch the fire. Erik hadn't sounded in the least offended by my news. I think it was more of a reaction to my mention of people.

"What are you going to tell them?" he asked suddenly.

"Nothing. Or whatever you want me to tell them. Its really up to you," I said softly.

"If it is acceptable for both of you, then I have no problems assuming the name," he closed his eyes and leaned back against the chair, "the last name...," he amended quietly.

"You would give up...Medart?" I asked incredulously.

"It isn't my real name. It served a purpose, but I have no great attachment to it," he replied.

"What is your real name?" I whispered, looking at Nicolas. He was turning his head to watch us both, obviously wondering why his father changed his name like he changed clothes.

"Erik," he said mockingly, opening his eyes to look at me, "Why, Laure, I thought you knew."

"Of course I know your first name," I said, exasperated, "Tell me your last name."

"I don't know my last name."

He smiled slightly as he said it, but his eyes told me quite a different story. He had really never belonged anywhere. I couldn't imagine not knowing where you came from, not having a strong family behind you, helping you through troubled times. He looked away, turning his head left to look into the fire, and I watched the flames play across the mask. His arms were crossed over his stomach, one leg casually tossed over the other, and he looked very much like I had dreamed of him once. The dream had been so real, I had ran to my studio so that I could paint it before the image left me. I felt the stirring of my heart again, as I had when I was younger, and every time since he had arrived.

I was tempted to reach across and touch him somewhere, anywhere at all. His hand, his cheek, anywhere, so long as I was permitted to touch him. My palm began to itch in nervous anticipation, and I curled it into a fist, recalling his finger against it this morning. He turned at my movement, watching my hand for a moment, then turning to look me in the eyes.

He leaned forward slowly, causing my heart to knock around painfully, and my lungs to struggle under the weighted pressure of that steady gaze. I expected more from that sudden motion than I should have, because he merely said in a soft and silky tone, "I'm going to bed."

He stood and murmured a good night to Nicolas, to me as well, but I couldn't reply with my heart and head spinning dizzily inside. Those words shouldn't have caused me to blush like a school girl, or feel a heated response throughout my body, but they did, and even when I finally retired for the night...alone...I couldn't get those words out of my mind.

I couldn't help but fill in the rest of that sentence with..., "would you like to join me?"


	22. Two Birds, One Stone

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

When I had told Nadir about Nicolas and his machinations, he'd had the audacity to laugh. Laugh! And no matter how hard I had glowered at him, he'd continued to laugh. Then he had uttered words that had made me want to strangle him: "Why _don't _you marry her? After all, you already have one part of the family completed."

Laure's words continued to haunt me, from, 'he's not the marrying kind', to 'I would have married him, but I wasn't given the option', and as I lay awake that night in bed, I thought about the look in her eyes before I had left her and Nicolas in the library.

The woman was ensnaring me in a web of something..._alluring_...something _exquisite_, and Nicolas was suddenly no longer alone in the center of my chaotic heart.

_It wasn't something I wanted to forget._

The words had been whispered, but they had screamed at me, tugging insistently on my foolish, sensible nature, making me want to believe in something real, even after all this time. Was it possible that she had remained unmarried on the hope that I would return? It seemed outrageous, preposterous, and yet my heart yearned at the ring of truth in her voice. Laure was not a deceptive person, not by any means. Her story about Etienne had been made to protect Nicolas, and I admired her for that. I was grateful she had fiercely devoted herself to him, and loved him in such a way that it made me want to weep.

Was there a more beautiful word than, 'Father?' I didn't think so, especially not from the mouth of my son. It startled me each time he said it, causing a valve in my heart to snap open with such force that I thought it should be audible to anyone in my vicinity. I had thought at first, that with such anger and coldness he gave off in my presence that he was like me. I had been terribly wrong. The anger was not as swift, not as quick, and he controlled it far better than I ever did.

He was _normal. _

Perhaps he possessed every bit of intellect as I had, but he wasn't what my mother had thought I was. A freak, an oddity with my unusual mind only surpassed by my horrid face.

_My_ son was _normal_, and I couldn't imagine anything else in this world bringing me greater joy. I drifted off to sleep, proving myself wrong as I dreamed of a night long ago, that had been a source of comfort and conflict for fifteen years. Fifteen years and nine months, to be precise.

------------

Vincent and Laure were standing in the main hall when I descended the stairs that morning, quietly arguing about something that ceased the moment Laure spotted me. Her eyes widened and she began to blush, but she didn't look away from me.

"Good morning, Erik!" Vincent boomed, far too loudly for this early of a morning. The man was quite easy to get along with, and seemed to harbor no hard feelings for what I had done with Laure, but he nonetheless made me nervous.

"Vincent," I returned quietly, looking at both of them with apprehension, "something wrong?"

"Not really," he muttered, "nothing I can't handle."

"_Have _I worn out my welcome?" I asked softly, "If I am causing problems, which I know I must be, then I will leave. Nicolas doesn't deserve to be judged because of my...appearance."

They both stared at me in shock, as if they couldn't believe I had spoken in such a concise manner about myself.

"_No."_

I turned around to find Nicolas looking at me with narrow eyed contempt, "Nicolas...I'm used to it," I said flatly, "and you would be better off if I wasn't a disruption in your life. It doesn't mean we can't see each other."

"You are _not_ leaving," he said anxiously, moving over to stand beside Laure. He picked her hand up in his, pulling her forward until they both faced me, "We don't want you to leave," he said in a tremulous tone. He squeezed Laure's hand, "_Tell_ him, Mother."

Her mouth parted slightly as she looked at Nicolas, then to me. I could read a sudden fear in her eyes, and she looked like she wished the floor would swallow her whole. Unconsciously I moved closer to her, waiting for her to respond with restive tensity.

"Laure?" I whispered, willing her to speak, to push aside the fear that I had of her rejecting me. Her eyes softened, and I saw a hint of what I had seen last night in their blue green depths. I wasn't sure what I was seeing, but it made my heart race.

"I-I do want you to stay," she said huskily, "we both do."

We stared at each other for several moments, only looking in each other's eyes, oblivious to Nicolas and Vincent watching us with awe. The only sound I heard was the wild beating in my chest, and the sudden _roaring_ in my ears. The connection was snapped when Vincent cleared his throat, then again for good measure.

"Will you stay?" Nicolas pleaded softly.

"Yes, I believe I will," I managed, finally looking away from Laure, into his worried face.

With a confident lightheartedness that I envied, he leaned forward and embraced me tightly. My eyes drifted to the ceiling in wonder, and I was heedless of the tears that suddenly gathered there, uncaring of the tightness in my throat and chest. I slowly raised my arm and patted his back, my eyes somehow settling back on Laure's pale face.

"Thank you," I mouthed silently, closing my eyes when she raised her hands to her mouth, halting a sob.

Nicolas stepped away from me, avoiding my eyes in a sudden display of embarrassment.

"Grandfather, we should get back to work," he said gruffly, "before anymore of the men decide to take off."

"They...they aren't coming to work?" I asked hesitantly, "Because of me?"

"Actually," Laure whispered, "it is my fault. I insulted some of the women, and they're taking it out on my father's shipping company."

"Well, they can expect to be fired, because I won't tolerate their wives bothering Laure," he snorted, "they should have a better handle on their women. They ought to know better than to bother the boss's daughter!"

"Is there anything I can do, Papa?" she asked softly, "I hate for you to lose three men because of me."

I hadn't worked around anyone since I built the Opera Populaire, but I found myself offering to help.

"Have you ever worked on a ship before?" he asked dubiously.

"Well, I think I have enough experience with architecture to figure it out," I said dryly.

"Then I accept," Vincent said, "now if you'll excuse us, Nicolas, I need to go over some things with you."

He maneuvered Nicolas out the front door, giving me a not so subtle wink as he closed the door behind them. Laure watched them leave with what looked like dread, turning back to face me with a stiff smile on her face.

"Thank you for helping them. Papa hates to fall behind in his work," she said tightly.

"Laure...," I closed my mouth, unsure of what to say.

"Nicolas is thrilled that you're going to stay. I hope you know that you are welcome here for as long as you want to stay," she said nervously, her hands fluttering around in animation.

"We...we aren't married," I whispered softly.

Her mouth fell open as she looked at me, "N-no we aren't," she agreed meekly.

'_Oh, God,'_ I thought,_ 'please give me courage.'_

"If I asked...," I said raggedly, "...what would you say?"

Her chest heaved suddenly as she released a breath, then tried to draw in another one. She was torturing me, slowly killing me with her silence, but it appeared I had rendered her speechless.

"Laure...," I ground out harshly.

"I would tell you...," she gasped loudly, looking at the floor, "...that you need to speak with my father!"

She darted past me up the stairs, her eyes wide, her mouth hanging open, looking like she had received the fright of her life. I knew exactly how she felt. I had received my own. With a grim face, I walked towards the docks, determined to either hang myself from a mast, or speak with Vincent.

Either way I would be doomed.


	23. Soon

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik _

I couldn't bring myself to approach Vincent immediately after I left the house. I could barely speak at all. Nicolas met me on the docks, nervous but eager to introduce me to the men working under him. I stepped onto the deck of a gigantic ironclad battleship, earning several startled glances from the men working on board. All work halted when Nicolas stepped up behind me.

"I'd like your attention," he said loudly, "I'd like to introduce my father. This is _Erik _Etienne Sagesse. He's going to be working here today, helping us out since we seem to be shorthanded," he paused for a moment, "and we won't have any problems today."

The men started for me slowly, some of them apprehensive, but for the most part they seemed to respect Nicolas. Like me so many years before, his word was law on the job. I couldn't help but admire him for it.

After several introductions to nearly seven men, Nicolas showed me around the ship, which was to be christened the _Donegal._

"This is our largest project right now," he explained, indicating the iron work going on on the scaffolding to the sides, "we have an Armstrong gun coming in for the battery, and we're also going to be equipping it with eight-twelve ton guns."

"Did you design this one?" I asked slowly, trying to take in the sheer size and complexity of the vessel.

"No," he laughed, "the military has a naval architect that they depend on for all their works. Perhaps one day...but it will be awhile."

"Do they usually require you to attend some sort of school for something like that?"

"Usually," he agreed, but he smiled, then showed me to the battery, "we can align guns today. It beats hoisting sails, and is far better than sanding the deck down."

So we proceeded to move the enormous guns into position for the battery, requiring assistance from three other men to maneuver them into position. Thankfully once work began the men stopped looking at me and strained along with us to finish the task. We moved all eight into position that day, and it took _all day. _By the time Nicolas called for quitting time, I was just as exhausted as he was.

Perhaps his crack about me being an old man wasn't too far off.

Vincent chuckled when he saw us coming off the ship, "He didn't work you too hard, did he?"

"I think youth is on his side," I said wryly, "Its been awhile since I've worked...manually."

"You'll be fine, Father," he said, and I sensed something lurking beneath the statement. He looked...mischievous.

I looked at Vincent for a moment, but he shrugged. Nicolas hid a grin and started up the hill to the house. I started after him, but Vincent stopped me suddenly.

"Don't you have something you want to ask me, Erik?" he said quietly.

I hesitated for a moment then choked out, "I-I do, actually," I looked toward the house for a moment, "Perhaps you could come by later this evening?"

"I'll be there," he promised, then turned to go back to his office, whistling slightly to himself.

I went to the house and cleaned up, changing into dry clothes, then went back down to the library. When I entered the room, Nicolas was sitting at Laure's feet with his head pitched forward as she rubbed his neck and shoulders. I watched for a moment, envious of him for receiving treatment for his injuries. I rolled my own painful shoulders, and Nicolas looked up at me and grinned.

At last I knew what the little matchmaker was up to.

"Father," he said cheerfully, "why don't you sit down and let her give you a massage? She always does this for me after we move the guns."

Her hands stilled on his shoulders for a moment, then resumed. She never looked up as she whispered, "Of course. I don't mind at all."

I didn't call her out for lying, but the way she stiffened up, the sudden nervousness in her movements betrayed her. Nicolas stood up, continuing to grin at me. He tried to pass me quickly, but as he left the room I let my voice drift to his ear, "You're going to pay for this."

His startled glance earned him a slow and mocking nod. He turned with another sly grin and closed the door behind him.

I turned back to Laure, who was still perched on the edge of her chair, her hands sitting in her lap. She looked resolved to her task, but I said quietly, "You don't have to. The boy is just trying to antagonize us both."

"Trying?" she muttered, giving me a slight smile, "I don't mind. I really do rub his shoulders after he's worked on the guns. He works himself so hard."

"I think he chose that task with this specific moment in mind," I said darkly, moving into the room to stand before her.

"Sit," she gestured gallantly, avoiding my eyes.

There was nothing more I wanted than have her hands on me. I obeyed without question, turning my back to her and leaning into her touch. The pressure her slim fingers gave my sore flesh had me relaxing immediately. The sensations were incredible as she squeezed the area on my neck, then down to my shoulders.

"Take your coat off," she whispered hoarsely, "it's easier without it."

I sat up and shrugged out of it impatiently then reclined back against her chair, waiting anxiously for her touch again. The warmness of her hands was incredible through the linen shirt. Occasionally her hands would drift back up into the nape of my neck, touching bare skin as she kneaded and caressed me, sliding her fingers vertically along the tender muscles, then reaching down again to squeeze at my shoulders and along the edge of my shoulder blades.

It was by far the most erotic thing I had ever experienced. The effects of ahkatz couldn't have been this pleasurable. I barely remembered to breath as she caressed me, especially when her hands would touch my skin, especially when they would drift up into my hair for a moment to touch my scalp momentarily, then back to my neck.

"Where...where did you learn to do this?" I asked huskily.

Her hand stopped for a moment and I thought I felt her exhale sharply against my hair. I started to turn around to look at her, but she resumed her task with shaky aggression, making me forget everything but her and her touch. Her hands were stronger, more fierce, digging deeper into my flesh. It was agony and bliss in the same moment, pleasure and pain for my sore muscles.

"In the harem," she finally said quietly.

I did turn to look at her then, "They taught you this?"

She blushed furiously, "Among other things."

My mouth went dry at her words, and mine were out before I could stop them, "What sort of things?"

Her eyes widened marginally and she cleared her throat nervously, "I-I don't remember."

Gratefully I turned around, mortified that I had asked something so bold. I didn't have that right...yet. Even when I did I wasn't sure if I could manage to discuss something like that with her. It seemed impossible that I had ever lain with this woman. It was like we had never touched at all, because the sensations she wrought in my body were wild and untamed, like nothing I had ever felt before. We hadn't even spent this much time touching the night Nicolas was conceived.

The most I remember about it was mindless passion, with instincts kicking that I hadn't even known I possessed. This was far different. I had been aroused far before I ever sat before her tonight. Gradually I became aware that she had stopped massaging me and her hands rested against my neck, absently stroking the hair that brushed my collar. I held my breath again, then reached up to clasp her hand in mine. I studied the refined bones, the delicate porcelain skin, the even nails. There was an occasional smudge of paint on the palm, a small scar across the back. I left no inch of her unexamined, then pressed her hand against my cheek, closing my eyes at the ragged sound that left her lips. Her other hand moved through my hair, like it had long ago, then drifted down to touch my ear for a moment.

"Laure," I groaned softly, "you're driving me mad."

I released her hand as she touched me, stroking the left side of my face in a slow and steady sweep, her thumb daring to move against the edge of my mouth. I nearly came undone when she traced the lining around the mask, brushing against my jawline on each side until her hands came together under my neck. She pulled gently at my chin, tilting my head back into her lap. My eyes fluttered closed when I saw her leaning forward, her hair spilling across her shoulders around us.

_"Erik?"_

We both jumped when the front door opened and closed again. Vincent called my name from the hall. I sat forward quickly, then moved stiffly forward to the chair across from her. I must have looked ridiculous crawling on the floor like a dog, but my pride was gone in favor of hiding...other things. We stared at each other in wide eyed fascination, too far gone to speak, to even look away. I felt like I'd been poleaxed, and she looked as if she was ready to launch herself at...what? Me?

I throbbed just thinking about it.

"There you are," Vincent said easily, obviously not noticing how close his daughter had become to being debauched in her library.

"Vincent," I said politely, afraid to stand, "Laure, if you would excuse us a moment?"

She looked startled, but nodded quickly, standing on shaky legs to leave the room. Her father stared after her a moment, shaking his head at her.

"Must have been some conversation you were having," he said wryly.

He had no idea.

"Did Laure talk to you this morning?" I asked nervously.

"Yes, she did. I think you have fairly succeeded in making her happy. I won't make you plead your case with me. I already know your merits, as well as your faults," he said evenly, "just know that she will always be my daughter."

"Meaning?"

"_Meaning_ that she will always be my daughter. Just as Nicolas will always be your son. I would say the same to any man who was in your position," he said kindly, "treat her right, love her, and you won't ever have a problem with me."

"How will we accomplish this, since it appears we are already married? To make it legal, of course," I said hastily.

"I have an idea. I hope I can crave your indulgence in it while I make the arrangements."

"How long?" I asked hoarsely.

"Judging by the look on your faces tonight," he said quietly, "I would say...soon."


	24. Laure's Little White Lie

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

-----------------

Just wanted to let you all know...there is a twist to the story... Erik and Nicolas, Laure as well still have a tough row to hoe... it seems there was a misunderstanding of sorts...that's all you get from me.

-----------------

I found Nicolas in his room, propped up against his bed reading something. When he saw me, he tried to tuck them beneath his leg, but I had already recognized the stationery. Nadir's letters.

"I should switch you for going through my things," I said coolly.

He lowered his eyes, a red glow emanating from his ears, "I'm sorry. I thought...I thought he had died. I thought that was why you had stopped talking about him. I just wanted to re-read them."

"Nicolas, I'm so sorry," I said gently, "I never meant for you to find out those things about him. Not that way. I should have told you."

He withdrew the letters and handed them to me, still not meeting my eyes. I took the envelopes, counting them slowly, then stopped. One was missing. I looked up to him, but he was concentrating on the model of the Great Eastern ship he had completed when he was seven. It had taken him nearly three days to put together what most people did as a side hobby.

It had taken my father coming up here for me to coax him away from it long enough to eat.

"Is this all of them?" I asked casually.

"Of course," he said, finally looking at me.

I let it go, deciding that I would find out later which one was missing. He scooted over on the bed so I could sit beside him, and I leaned over to brush the ever present hair from his forehead. He grinned at me in consternation, knowing it was a habit I was unable to break.

"I want you to promise me something," I said firmly.

"What?" he asked warily.

"Stop tormenting your father."

"Me?" he asked, grinning slightly.

"You," I confirmed, "he's having a hard enough time of this, Nicolas. Don't make it worse for him. He isn't used to...to us, and our ways." I smiled, tugging his ear mockingly. I knew he remembered the night I had grabbed him on the docks. The boy had absolutely no poker face. "He needs to take it slow, son, or we may just frighten him off for good."

"I saw no harm in giving him a little push," he protested, "and Grandfather approved."

My mouth fell open, "Your Grandfather? You were in on this together?"

"He wants you two to get married...and so do I," he said quietly.

He looked so earnest, so very young just then that my heart broke for him. I hadn't realized how much it meant to him, to have both of his parents with him, and for them to be married. The greatest gift my father had ever given me was loving my mother. I knew what Nicolas wanted. He wanted his parents to love each other as much as his grandparents did.

"He has asked me," I said carefully, "but that doesn't mean everything is just going to fall into place. Even if we marry tomorrow, there are still a lot of things that need to be worked out."

"Like what?"

"W-well like where we will live," I stammered, "what he will do for a living...he may not want to build boats...," I paused, looking away, "...if he will accept us."

"Why wouldn't he accept us?"

"Because he's been alone his entire life. I don't think he ever had a family. He doesn't understand what being a family means," I said softly, glancing towards the open doorway, "I don't think he understands what love means."

"How is that possible?" he asked skeptically, reaching out and taking my hands, "Everyone knows what love and family means."

"Not everyone," I said, feeling close to tears, "there are some people in this world who have never known love. Like your father. And it is left to us to change that, Nicolas. It is our love that can help him to finally let go of his past, and embrace us, his future."

He reached across the bed and hugged me, whispering against my ear, "I've always known how much you loved him. I want you to be happy. Both of you."

"Nic," I laughed shakily against his shoulder, holding him tighter than before, "you are far too perceptive for your age. Far too much," I leaned up and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

"Are you going to tell him?"

"When the time is right," I said evenly, "and I trust you will keep your promise. No more 'little pushes', no more pushes of any kind. Let it happen naturally."

Solemnly, he swore he would do his best. I could only hope it was good enough. Anymore repeats of tonights performance and I probably would frighten Erik off for good. I would have to promise myself I would stay away from him, otherwise I would never get him down the aisle.

---------------------

I put the letters in my room, then I met my father in the hall as I descended the stairs, Erik following slowly behind him. I met his eyes for a moment, feeling the heat and desire in that gaze throughout my body.

"Laure, I was just on my way out," Papa said, "but tomorrow both of you come by the house. Your mother has a surprise for you."

I turned to him, "A surprise?" I asked slowly, feeling a smile spread across my face. I loved my mother's surprises. They always tended to be very, very special.

"You know how she is," he chuckled, "Thinks that the only way to give you a gift is for it catch you completely off guard."

"Not even a hint?" I asked teasingly.

"Not one." he smiled, planting a kiss on my cheek, "Well, I have to go," he sighed, his eyes twinkling, "I _do _have a wedding to plan!"

He walked out the front door, leaving me and Erik in an uncomfortable silence. Our eyes met again briefly, then he looked away, his mouth tightening slowly until it looked like he had sampled a tart apple.

"Dinner should be ready by now. Are you hungry?"

He looked down in surprise as his stomach rumbled, "Apparently," he said dryly.

I tried to retain a giggle and failed, causing a small smile to lurk across his face very briefly. I hoped that I could make him smile more often in the future. He seemed to be hopelessly determined to remain distant from me. I still couldn't get over the shock from his non-proposal this morning. I had drifted through the house all day on feet that never quite touched the floor. At thirty I was finally getting married, even though I wasn't certain how eager my groom was.

"Well, if you'll retrieve Nicolas from his room, I will see what I can do about hurrying Nina along," I said warmly.

He bounded up the stairs, obviously relieved he could get away from me. I wondered what he was going to do once I had ensnared him. Not for the first time that day, I wondered what I was going to do.

---------------------

Nicolas behaved himself through dinner, although I think Erik and I were both sitting on edge, waiting for the axe to drop. Nadir still had not shown back up at the house. Before Erik could go upstairs I touched his arm, "Where is Nadir?" I asked quietly, "He hasn't been here for the last two nights."

His eyes widened, "He hasn't?"

I shook my head, wondering how it was possible for him not to miss his friend's absence.

"I don't know," he admitted, raking a hand through his hair, "sometimes he...disappears for awhile. I think he grows weary of me."

"Oh," I said lightly, "I hope he is back in time for the wedding."

He stepped back from me a little, turning his head to the side, "You...you never actually answered me."

"I didn't?" I frowned, "I...well...the answer is yes. I'm sorry, I thought you knew."

"Are you sure this is what you want?" he whispered, "I'm not...I really don't know why you would want to marry me," he glanced toward the ceiling a moment, "except for Nicolas, of course."

My tongue felt as if had suddenly grown inside my mouth. I opened my lips, but nothing could come out. I hadn't expected _him_ to want a reason. I wasn't ready to tell him why, and I knew that he wouldn't believe me if I did.

"I-I just do," I managed tightly, "is that good enough, for now?"

"There won't be any going back, Laure," he said quietly, fixing me with a fierce and almost angry look, "I'm not a compromising man. This will be a real marriage. You had better think long and hard about what you really want."

Unable to respond, I nodded my head dumbly. He stared at me a moment more before going upstairs. I stood there for two minutes before I followed, going to my room and closing my door.

_This will be a real marriage._

Words had never sounded so promising.

I sat on my bed, surprised when I found the letters still sitting on the table beside it. I picked them up and counted them again. Only four letters. I opened them all, peering at the contents of the letters, knowing exactly which one was missing. I strode to my bureau, fumbling around inside it for a moment before I saw the edge of the envelope sticking out from the top, hidden almost completely.

It ripped slightly when I pulled it out, and I knew that Nicolas hadn't ever read it. The others were worn down, from both of us reading them. He obviously came in here often and read them. I didn't know what possessed him to take them this time, but I was glad he had never found this one.

It was the last letter Nadir had sent. The one about Christine, detailing the last few weeks at the theater, and it explained thoroughly how his father had killed two members of the theater troupe, abducted the soprano, and dropped a chandelier on the roomful of people. No one had been killed during the fall, but several people had been injured.

It also contained the events that had happened below the theater. Nadir had written about how Christine had broken his heart. At the time, I hadn't really believed that it was possible. I assumed he was jealous because of Chagny, but now I know how much he really loved her. Possibly still does, in his own misguided way.

I stood up and knelt by the small hearth in my room, doing what I should have done a long time ago. This ensured that Nicolas would never have to know the details of that night. It ensured my son, and my future husband would continue to live in peace together, blissfully unaware of what was written in that last note. If Erik wanted to tell him at some point in the future, it was his decision. But Nicolas would not be reading secondhand information about his father again.

Not anymore.


	25. Wedding Gifts

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Erik was apprehensive as we went to my parents house the next evening. I could tell he wanted nothing more than to return home to sit in the library with Nicolas. For a man with such long legs, he was having a hard time keeping up with me, so eventually I completely slowed down until we were both barely walking along the ridge.

"My parents are good people," I said suddenly, "and my father really seems to like you."

He snorted, "Of course, everyone wants me for a son in law," he gave me a sardonic look, "and I'm sure your mother is absolutely thrilled. The women in the village are bound to look at her with respect now."

"My parents don't care about the village. They never have, or they would have turned me out when I showed up here six months pregnant."

"Six months?" he repeated slowly.

"It was not a pleasant trip," I admitted, "I was sick the entire time I carried Nicolas. At first I thought it was sea sickness, but I soon realized there was something else going on."

"There are medicines to alleviate those...symptoms," he said, giving me a stern look, "why didn't you take something?"

"I had just turned sixteen. I wasn't altogether knowledgable about that sort of thing," I said ruefully, "once I got home, Mother kept me in bed and brought in a doctor. It still didn't help. I think most of it was stress."

"You had returned home. What reason did you have to be stressed about?"

I looked at him quickly, wondering if he was serious. He was as stoic as ever, gazing back at me with those green eyes that had haunted me for so long.

"I...I knew I wouldn't see you again," I said curtly.

"Then you should have felt relief," he said bitterly.

I didn't reply, just somehow found courage to do something to distract him, to surprise him for once. I linked my arm through his, ignoring him when he stiffened beside me and almost stopped walking. He was looking down at the top of my head as we continued, but I just kept my eyes fixated on the house I had grown up in.

Slowly his arm moved up across his chest, and I nestled my arm into the crook of his elbow. We walked the rest of the way in breathless silence.

My father opened the door when Erik knocked, even though I had told him it wasn't necessary. I felt his hand briefly rest against my back for a moment as we stepped inside, then it was gone. I turned to give him a smile, but his face was frozen into a look of sheer terror. Impulsively I touched his hand, but he stepped away from me, giving me a reproachful look, then glancing at my father.

"There you are!" my Mother said nervously, coming into the room to give me a kiss.

"Madame Bourne," Erik said calmly, bowing slightly to her.

"Such a gentleman," she said, giving me a smile, "Its so nice to have someone with manners around after living with shipmen and sailors."

Erik raised his eyebrow, but said nothing. I could tell he was on the verge of his patience, and I really didn't want to know what his temper was like at his age. If he broke even one thing of my mother's, there wouldn't be a wedding. I think she could beat him to death quite effectively.

"Laure, I have something for you in our bedroom. Just come with me, take a peak," she said cheerfully.

I gave Erik a helpless look and followed her upstairs. She turned to give me a thoughtful look then said, "Close your eyes."

"Mother."

"Close them," she said swiftly.

I rolled them. After I closed them. She pulled me into the room, maneuvering me where she wanted me then told me to open them.

My eyes widened when I saw the dress hanging from the canopy rail of their bed. My wedding dress, apparently.

"Where did you get this?" I croaked, going to examine the gorgeous white gown.

"I made it," she said, huffing slightly.

"We just agreed yesterday. How...?"

"Oh, your father had me making this thing last month," she said dismissively, "once he heard Erik was coming here, he told me to start making it."

"A month ago? You've been planning my wedding for a month?" I asked incredulously.

"Well, we hoped we were planning a wedding. We let Nicolas in on it yesterday. I think he's really coming around, that boy."

I reached out and touched the fabric hesitantly, "This is silk. You shouldn't have spent so much money...," I whispered.

"You know better than that," she chided, "money is no object for us. Your father wanted nothing but the best for you."

"But...I can't get married like everyone else," I said weakly, "they think I'm already married. I can't just go into a church and...,"

"Laure, your father has taken care of everything. You will have a real, albeit unique, ceremony," she sighed, "I think it happens to be incredibly romantic."

"What is he plotting?" I asked suspiciously.

"Well, that is for him to tell you," she said gracefully, "now, lets get back downstairs. Erik is probably wondering where his surprise is."

I looked at her in shock, "You have one for him?"

She gave me a baleful look, as if not having a present for my groom would have been a crime. I followed her downstairs in astonishment, waiting anxiously to see what my parents had for him.

"Well, are you two ready?" my father asked, rising from his chair.

"Ready?" Erik repeated, turning to look at me.

I gave him a small shrug, "I have no idea what's going on."

"Let's go down to the docks, and we'll just have to see," my father grinned, taking my mother's arm and leading her outside.

We followed slowly, walking apart until he reached over and took my arm again, tucking me close to his side.

"You don't know...," he began.

"All I know is that they have a wedding gift...for you."

"Me?" he stopped walking, giving me a look of horror, "I don't have anything to give them."

I chuckled, "You aren't supposed to. Its a wedding gift, not Christmas."

His eyes darted out over the port, scanning it for some clue of what lay in store. I stepped in front of him, moving my hand up to rest against his shoulder.

"You deserve it, whatever it is."

His eyes met mine, filled with a sudden bleakness that tore at my heart. He whispered roughly, "I don't deserve anything. Least of all their kindness."

I touched his cheek briefly, "Yes, you do. After all," I smiled, "you sent them not one, but two gifts. My father has felt indebted to you ever since."

"Is that why he is letting me marry you? Because of Nicolas?" he asked.

"Among other things." I said evasively, "Now come on, they're going to think they have frightened you off."

I moved my hand to his, tugging at him ineffectively for a moment until he decided to move. His fingers laced with mine for a moment, his thumb caressing my palm briefly, then he put my hand back into his arm and we walked down to the docks where my parents were waiting.

"Papa?" I asked suspiciously, looking around the docks.

"This is it," he declared, and with a sweeping gesture, he indicated Nicolas's cutter.

Erik's eyes widened as he looked at the ship, then back down to my father's smiling face.

"I don't understand."

"_This_," my father said slowly, "is your wedding present. Mine to you."

"I thought this had already been purchased. It was a commission," he said softly.

"Oh, well. I canceled that," he said carelessly, "I couldn't have my grandson's first ship landing in the hands of a spoiled Italian. He was more than happy to have his money returned to him."

Erik looked back to the ship, his face tightening as he examined every rope, every painted board, every sail, "I don't know what to say," he whispered.

"Thank you, is usually an appropriate response," I said, tiptoeing up to his ear.

He jerked his head away from mine, startled, then nodded hesitantly at my father, "Monsieur Bourne, Madame Bourne, this is a lovely gift. Thank you for putting so much thought into it."

His eyes were tormented, but his face very much composed, his voice very formal. I sensed the struggle inside of him, the immense pressure this moment was putting on him. I was relieved when my father noticed it as well.

"Clare, I think we should let these two examine their new toy. If you need anything, come by the house."

My mother managed to whisper for me to come by so she could fit the dress, then they left us alone on the docks.

"Are you okay?" I asked gently.

He turned to look at me, as if surprised that I was still there as well.

"I've never been given a present before," he said absently, "not in a long time anyway."

He withdrew a silver compass from somewhere. I hadn't even seen him move, but the object was suddenly in his hands. He opened it for a moment, then it disappeared.

"What was that?" I asked cautiously.

"This?" he asked, showing me the compass, which had apparently never left his hands, "My first gift. Marie's book didn't count. Mother wouldn't let me have it."

I furrowed my brow, "Marie?"

"She gave me a book on my fifth birthday," he said angrily, "on ventriloquism. Mother wouldn't let me have it."

I reached out to touch the compass, but he moved his hand away in a defensive gesture. "Its mine," he muttered.

"I don't want to take it," I said soothingly, stepping back, "I just wanted to look."

He held it up between a thumb and index finger, several inches out of my range, "See? This is mine."

"Of course it is." I murmured, "Who gave it to you?"

"My father," he said, turning to look at the cutter.

I watched as he went from placid to angry. His eyes darkened, his mouth tightened, and he clenched his empty fists in frustration. I stepped away again, suddenly afraid that he might start throwing things like he had that night in his room. He had never tried to hurt me, but he had no problems breaking things.

"Erik?"

His head dropped to his chest suddenly, his hands shaking a little as he fought for control. I wanted to wrap my arms around him, but I knew the move wouldn't be welcome. He hadn't looked so upset since the night I had found him on board. He had been angry in my studio, yes, but not like this.

"I'd like a moment alone," he said over his shoulder, then walked toward the ship without looking back at me.


	26. The Palm

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

At some point a storm rolled in that evening. I couldn't hear a thing over the roaring and wailing winds outside, rocking the ship as restlessly as my soul. I felt like the surging tide was pulling me out, dragging me farther and farther away from the one place I wanted to be: beside her, and Nicolas. Yet I knew I didn't deserve it, didn't deserve them. The bitter sea wanted to claim me, and I struggled against that wall of water, wanting only to be safe, to be near them.

I stayed on the ship out of fear. Not of the storm outside, but of the one in my mind. The unexpected generosity of her father, and of her mother as well had hurt deeply. I didn't know how to respond to something that had obviously been so well intentioned, something that meant so much to them. I sat on the floor in the captain's cabin, thinking about Giovanni, holding the compass in my trembling hands.

My father.

I had never met my real father. There was only Giovanni. For a year I lived with him, learned from him, loved him. I breathed in the majesty of Rome, loved the ancient city, the beautiful things that had stood timeless and ageless for centuries.

I _loved _him.

I wondered if tragedy would follow this gift, as it had the last. The compass. Giovanni. Luciana. I had tried to forget about him, because only when I did, I could forget _her_, and what losing her had meant to him.

What it had cost me as well.

If there was anything I regretted more than sending Laure away, to flee across the desert with my child inside of her, it was Giovanni. I should have done more. I should have revealed _it _to that girl, given her a reason to fear me from the beginning.

After I left Rome, for a brief period of time I no longer cared if people saw beneath the mask. When Nadir found me, I had grown accustomed to doing performances to earn money. In the end it was always the same.

_Take off the mask, Erik! Show us your face!_

I did so now, holding the leather in my hands as if it could provide me with answers. Give me comfort beyond when I must wear it. When I must hide behind the mask. It is better than the old one in a lot of ways. People fear what they cannot see. Yet, wearing this one raises more questions than the one I wore in Persia.

"Father?"

I looked up to see Nicolas standing in the doorway, silhouetted by a lantern behind him. Instinctively I turned my head away from him, even though it was far too dark for him to see anything.

"Yes?" I asked roughly.

"Are you coming inside?" he whispered, moving into the room.

"I hadn't given it much thought."

"Grandfather said he gave you the ship. Do you like it?" he asked softly.

I could hear the hope in his voice, knew the question he asked me. He wanted my approval, of all things, when I should have been asking for his.

"I love it. I've never received something so...beautiful. You did a fine job on it, Nicolas," I said in a strangled voice. I stood up quickly, dropping the mask in my haste. I heard it hit the floor, but in the darkness I couldn't find it.

"I'll get the lantern," he offered, and before I could say anything he was out the door, bringing in the dim, unfeeling light.

I spotted it immediately, picked it up then asked suddenly, "Do you want to see me, Nicolas? Do you want to know...me? What I am?"

"I know who you are," he said faintly, "you're my father. And you're a man."

I bit back the reply that I had given Nadir for making that same comment. I wasn't a man, I was a ghost.

But Nicolas didn't need to hear that. He didn't need to know how utterly miserable I was.

"Do you want to see me?" I repeated simply.

"If it is something you think I should see, then show me."

I turned my head towards the light, stepping from the shadows along the wall, and showed Nicolas the father that had been hidden from him. My eyes lowered to the floor as he gazed at me, his boots coming into my view as he moved forward.

"Did the khanum do this to you?" he whispered.

Startled, I looked up at him, "No. I've always been like this."

His hand slowly reached up to my cheek, touching what few had ever dared. I closed my eyes again, feeling his fingers glide across the skin for a moment.

"Does it hurt?" he murmured, "It looks painful."

"It causes no...physical pain," I said obligingly.

He stepped back then, taking the lantern and its light with him. With a quick twist, the light was gone, plunging us both back into darkness.

"You look like me...," he said indifferently, "...and I don't care about the rest."

"People will talk about you," I said tensely, "and your mother."

"_People_, can go to Hell," he retorted, his voice filled with fury, "they've been talking about me for years, and I have no problem bloodying another nose for their impudence!"

"I don't want to cause you problems...," I began, but he cut me off with an impatient grunt.

"The only problem you'll cause is if you leave."

"I don't want to leave," I said.

"Then come to the house. Nina made some hot chocolate after dinner, there's a fire in the library," he paused, "Mother is sitting in there...reading. Come to the house. It's far too cold out here."

For once in my life I obeyed someone, with pleasure.

----------------------

Nicolas was all too eager to sit and have dinner with me, despite the fact that he had already eaten once that evening. I ate in silence as he talked, and I was amazed at the speed at which his moods changed. One minute, he was fierce, protective, almost angry sounding. The next, he was talking about some girl from the village named Julianne that had allowed him to kiss her next to the clockmaker's. He really was as Laure had described him: carefree, loving...forgiving. I envied him for having such a life.

I couldn't help but think that even if I had been born with a normal face, I would never be half the man he was turning out to be. He had his mother and grandparents to thank for that. Not me. I had contributed nothing to his persona. I had merely been a vessel for his design. I was only thankful that the model was better than the actual ship.

Laure was sitting by the fire, reading as Nicolas had described. Her hair was down, lying in a tangled mass around one shoulder. Her feet were curled up beneath her in the chair, her bare legs visible beneath a blanket that covered her from knee to chest. She glanced up when she heard us enter, tucking the blanket around her legs self consciously.

I swallowed suddenly, still able to see her slim calves in the fire light. She peered at us for a moment over her book, looking to the floor in dismay.

"Are you two dripping water everywhere?" she demanded, sitting up. She craned her neck towards the floor, muttering a curse that I had never heard a lady use before.

"Sorry," Nicolas said sheepishly, moving from the rug onto the hardwood floor. I did the same, eye balling her warily.

"Both of you, wait right here," she said sharply, going out into the hall. I could hear her muttering more curses.

Nicolas turned to me and grimaced when she entered the dining room, and we could hear her curses turn into threats.

"She doesn't really have a gun, does she?" I asked mildly.

"No. But Grandfather does."

"You'd better be glad we live near a sandy coast," she said hotly, "if I had found one mud stain in there, you would have been cleaning this up yourself."

She ordered us to remove our boots, taking our coats off, then gave us both a blanket to wrap in.

"You're both freezing," she said, her voice softening when she took the coats. "Go upstairs and take a warm bath. Change your clothes," she said insistently.

"Really, Mother, we're fine," Nicolas protested.

"I said go," she repeated, pointing a finger at the door.

He turned to leave, dragging the blanket behind him. I started towards the fire, not in the mood for a bath, but she put her hand on my chest, "I meant both of you."

I looked down to the her hand, then back up at her face, seeing a determined look in her eyes.

"I believe I'll just sit here," I replied steadily, pressing against her hand slightly.

"You're going to catch a cold. Come on," she said, taking my hand, "I was going upstairs anyway."

I followed like a dummy foal, blind, deaf, unable to think for myself. She was still holding my hand as we climbed the stairs, leading me down the long hallway to my room. She hesitated for a moment before opening the door, but ended up leading me inside and closing it behind us.

"I...I can draw you a bath if you like," she offered, letting go of my hand to move to the other side of the room.

I stared at her in fascination, watching the nightdress and robe swirl just above her bare feet, the shimmer of the fabric in the light from my room. I nodded pathetically, going to sit near the window as I heard her in the bath. She came back in moments later, carrying a robe I had never used that had been inside the small closet.

"You can wear this to get out of those clothes," she said nervously, "I'll...I'll be across the hall if you need anything."

"Thank you," I managed to say before she backed out the door, leaving me alone...with my bath. I suddenly wished I had tried to persuade her to stay.

I had just sank into the water when I heard my door open and close again.

"Erik?" she called through the open bathroom door.

I sat up quickly, my bare ass sliding across the surface of the tub. I hit my knee against the soap tray, drawing a thin line of blood across it and breaking the ceramic dish.

"A-are you okay?" she asked hesitantly. I saw her head peer through the door, then dart back out, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come in here."

"Wait," I called, looking at the blood seeping into the water, and my towel out of reach, "I...could you hand me my towel? I've cut my leg."

She came in slowly, flushing as she saw me hunched over in the tub with my knees poking out of the water.

"I'm sorry," she said again, handing me my towel.

I pressed it against the wound, fumbling around for a moment to pry the remaining piece of the soap tray from the side of the tub.

"I broke it," I said apologetically, "you startled me."

I waited for her to leave the room, but instead she knelt beside me, her eyes wide eyed and apprehensive as they looked everywhere but into the water. I held my breath as she leaned forward, taking a sponge from the basket behind me and wet it, then moved it across my back. I closed my eyes, letting her do whatever she wanted, whatever she needed. Once again, I was willing in her hands. The water cascaded down my back, warm, gliding like the waves across the ocean. Every now and then she would release the sponge and her hands would scoop water over my back, brushing down it with gentleness she didn't need to show on my account.

I kept my body forward so she couldn't see what she was doing to me, in case this was all she wanted. I watched from the corner of my eyes as a smile stayed on her face, and softly she started to hum. I blew out the breath that I had been holding, trying to stop myself from shaking with heat and need, trying to quell the sudden madness in my head and heart. She tossed the sponge aside as she felt me quaking, and I nearly exploded out of the water as her arms closed around my shoulders.

"Erik," she sighed raggedly, leaning forward so she could lay her head against my arm. She was heedless to the fact that I was taut as a bowstring, ready to snap under the strain of her touch. She simply held me, immobilized by my nakedness and the fear of reaching out and taking what I wanted. I was trapped, a sitting duck, and all too eager to be here, waiting for the hunter to shoot me.

I turned my head towards her finally, grateful that I had not removed the mask. Her face was peaceful, she was smiling. Smiling! I felt like I was going to die from want, and she appeared content with my misery.

"Would you kiss me?" she whispered pleadingly, her face raising slightly, her eyes fixated on my mouth.

With a fierce hunger I could not define, I let go of my knees, turned nearly to my side, and pulled her against me. Her soft sob before our lips met nearly tore me into. I kissed her gently, my lips moving over hers in a delicate sweeping arc.

"Open your mouth," I commanded roughly, tasting her again on the inside, feeling like molten lava had been poured throughout my body. My tongue touched hers briefly, and her eyes popped open in shock, fluttering closed again when I did it again.

Her groan vibrated through me like the strings of a violin, I felt it in my mouth, as deadly and fierce as a lion's roar. My hands cupped her head, pitching her back suddenly to kiss her throat, then back up to her mouth. She ran her fingers through my hair, then clamped them onto the back of my neck, urging me deeper, opening her mouth wider for me.

This was nothing like my first kiss. Nothing like Christine. This was raw, feral, and I knew that if I didn't stop, her library floor wasn't the only one that would be wet. But how could I? She was holding me, a willing prisoner in her arms, greedily thrusting her mouth against mine with ardor.

Poignant noises were being elicited from her mouth, sounding as if they came from somewhere deep inside her soul, entrenching into mine with tenacity and vigor. I nearly hauled her into the water with me. Instead, I broke the kiss, sitting forward again, staring at my still bleeding knee vacantly as I struggled to catch my breath.

She rocked back onto her heels, apparently just as dazed. I finally looked at her, the robe wet from where my chest had been touching her, her lips swollen and reddened, her eyes meeting mine with a glow I had never seen before.

"T-thank you," she said, blushing.

"I...you're welcome," I whispered weakly, turning my attention back to my knee.

"That was wonderful," she said softly, reaching out to touch my hair, "I'm glad you came here. I really am."

"Why?" I asked, surprised.

"Because its what I always wanted," she smiled gently, "and now I have everything."

"I'm not everything. I...," I began, but she stopped me by placing a hand over my mouth.

I turned to look at her, astounded by the gesture. No one had ever told me to shut up quite so erotically. I raised my hand to hers, moving my mouth from her fingers to her palm, feeling a thrill when her eyes slid closed. I did it again, three more times, watching as her mouth parted again.

When I finally stopped, she opened her eyes, fixing me with a heavy lidded gaze.

"One of the things they taught us," she whispered in a low and seductive tone, "was that the palm of your lover is an area of intense pleasure. If I couldn't recall a single thing they ever told me, at least I know there was some truth to their words."

With a slight smile, and a blinding rush of desire, I kissed her palm again.


	27. Life Preserver

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

His mouth moved over my hand again, across the fleshy area beneath my thumb, then bit gently just above my wrist. His eyes bore into mine, when I could manage to keep them open, full of fire and passion. The wild gleam in them reminded me of how he had been before. Vital. Powerful. Seductive. I really didn't know what possessed me to come back. Or maybe it had all been self consciously prepared for this moment.

He was in a vulnerable position. He wouldn't dare move from his confinement, and I could give him comfort without seeming to. If comfort meant intimacy, then I would give him whatever he needed. I just wanted to make his pain go away. I had failed in Persia, to make him understand that I would have accepted something more.

Perhaps it had all been the mindless obsession of a young girl. Once. Now, I knew that I _did_ love him, and my heart broke every time he revealed more about himself, about his life. None of it had been good. For all the calm and stony exterior he displayed, I saw fleeting glimpses beneath it, into someone so emotionally torn and insecure that he had thought he had to steal a woman to win affection. Someone who thought everyone was against him, that no one would love him. I desperately wanted to prove him wrong.

"Laure," he breathed against my wrist, moving his mouth against me.

He was staring in wonder at my skin now, mesmerized by the feel of it against his mouth. I was entranced as well, watching and feeling something so overwhelming I nearly burst into tears from the beauty of it. I had never wanted to tell someone I loved them more than this moment, than with this man. Common sense kept me silent.

I waited expectantly to see if he would take more, if he wanted what I was more than willing to give. Instead of what I wanted though, he released my hand, propping his arms across his knees in a gesture that said, 'do not touch'.

"The water is cooling," he said gruffly.

"I'll be across the hall," I replied in what I hoped was a normal voice. He didn't move as I left, but before I closed the door I heard the water begin to run again inside the bath. I went into my studio and sat at on my stool.

I started working on a painting of the harem, which I have been working on for awhile. I had hidden it easily enough beneath some sheets that draped carelessly against the floor. These paintings were one reason Nicolas isn't allowed in here. I have done a few in the past, but usually destroy them once they are completed. I would be mortified if anyone ever saw them. The khanum was in the background, her evil black eyes observing the wives of the shah being pampered. I had never been able to bring myself to display the true nakedness of those women, so instead I position them seductively.

The curve of a hip, the gentle rise of a shoulder. Sometimes there is far more beauty in what is not seen, than what is. I painted myself, obscured by a veil, offering a tray of olives to one of the women, which she looked at with disdain. The khanum was hard to please. The wives were impossible.

I finished what I wanted of it, then reached out to pluck the vial of black paint from the shelf near me, intent on covering the entire canvas with it. I nearly screamed when his hand reached out to lower mine.

"Why would you destroy something so beautiful?"

He plucked the vial from my hand and set it back onto the shelf. I turned around to look at him, shocked that he had gotten in here, and was standing behind me. I hadn't heard anything!

"Its vulgar," I managed to say, "I shouldn't paint something so incriminating."

"It was hardly your choice to go there," he said carelessly, moving around to take my brush from the easel. With a few gentle strokes, he brought the painting back to life, finishing the outer edges, remembering in detail the azure tile, the vines climbing up the walls of the courtyard.

"I can't display this. People would go into conniptions."

"The only people I see...are you and me," he said, giving me a suggestive smile, "this is beautiful. Even if the content is...controversial. For our culture, not theirs."

I watched in silence as he studied the work for a moment, making changes that I never would have, still making it breathtaking in its own way. I knew without a doubt that he had made it darker, slightly sinister looking. My memories of the place were vastly different than his own.

"Why did she beat you that night?"

I turned to look at him, "The khanum?"

He nodded, setting the brush down, then turning me around to face him. I felt my heart slam against my ribs as he reached out to touch my cheek. His finger trailed around my jaw, then across my ear briefly.

"I didn't give her the proper response," I whispered, staring into his eyes.

"She asked you if you enjoyed it...," he prompted.

"...and I smiled."

"Smiled?" he repeated, "She beat you that severely for smiling?"

"It wasn't the proper response."

He scowled slightly, "She was going to kill you."

"Which she would have done anyway. I understand that now. It was never about me, she wanted to goad you. Wanted to rile you, make you...lose control. She liked to watch you when you were angry," I paused, "besides...I _did _smile."

He looked at me narrowly for a moment, as if the words had no bearing, as if he couldn't quite grasp my meaning.

"It was a precursor to yes," I said softly, "she never gave me a chance to say anything. But if I'd had the chance," I leaned forward, sliding off the stool to stand close to him, "I would have said _yes._"

"Why are you doing this?" he whispered, face suddenly tightening, "Why are you acting like..."

"Like I desire you?" I rasped, "Because I do. I feel alive when you are near me...and I think you do as well," I reached out and took his hand, pressing a kiss to his palm, manipulating him the same way he had done me, "tell me that you don't want to take what I offer. What I am willing to give you, now, and any other night you desire."

"I have heard those words before from your lips," he murmured, "do you remember?"

"I remember everything. I meant them then, just as I do now."

He took his hand away from my mouth, closing it into a fist at his side. I looked at his face, his eyes closing as he pitched his head back to the ceiling in agony. A man shouldn't have to struggle so hard for something being given to him. He shouldn't have to be afraid to take what he wanted.

"I...I think I would rather wait until we are married," he finally said, turning his face away, "you may decide differently...and I wouldn't want to complicate things more."

I could have persuaded him to change his mind, I could have assured him that there was no way I was letting him back out. Instead I accepted his offer, allowing him to keep his life preserver, so that he didn't flounder and drown on his own. He did want me. But he was too afraid to take what he wanted.

"We will wait then," I said, rising to give him a small kiss on his cheek, "I'm going to check on Nicolas. You can let yourself out."

He didn't turn around as I left the room and went down to see Nicolas, already sprawled across his bed in a deep slumber. I crept downstairs and cleaned up the remainder of their mess, setting their boots by the hearth to dry and sweeping up the sand that covered the floor.

I was glad Nicolas had coaxed him from the ship. When I had left him there I thought I couldn't have possibly been more wound up, yet he had sprung me inside tonight with his kiss, and his gentle caresses.

My first kiss.

From any man besides my father and Nicolas. It was delightfully shocking, incredibly romantic, and extremely arousing. I only hoped that our wedding night was soon, otherwise I would be taking Erik's life preserver, and casting it into the fire, with us as well.


	28. Rings

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

Vincent stuck his head out of his office door and beckoned me inside. With a glance towards the _Donegal,_ and a heavy sigh, I followed. I wasn't in the best of moods. I had woken up late, feeling as if my head were stuck in the clouds, and slightly feverish. I took an elixir that I kept on me, which so far has kept me from ever having a cold, but apparently should have been taken last night. I watched Vincent through weary eyes as he took his place behind the desk, indicating I should sit as well.

Gratefully I did. I wasn't feeling too sturdy this morning, and I had slept through breakfast. The maid seemed to be particularly frightened of me, and Laure was nowhere to be found. I decided to forgo it, even though I had been starving when I left the house.

"My wife is wondering if you have appropriate formal wear for the wedding. She says if you don't, come by the house and she can find something, or measure you and go into town," he said graciously.

"I have something, thank you."

"Good. Good. Well now that its settled," he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small box, "If you have no objections, of course, these are my parent's wedding rings. I know the ladies band fits Laure. Why don't you try the other one?"

"Vincent..." I began firmly, but he waved the ring in front of my face, demanding that I take it.

"You're family now," he said dismissively, "and there is a tradition to uphold here. Take it."

I stared at him a moment, shocked by his words. Yearning for something that I had never been offered, never had a choice in.

_You're family now._

Dutifully I leaned forward and examined it, sliding it onto my finger. It felt a little loose, but wouldn't go back across the knuckle without some help. I studied the odd little ring, silver, with three trinity knots across the band. It looked almost Celtic in origin, except for the Fleur de Lis on each side. I took the other band, the one that Laure would wear. It matched, except there was a diamond separating the design, which was duplicated on each side.

"My mother was from Ireland. My father met her there while he was learning to build ships, brought her here, and they raised me," he said, waving his hand when I tried to give him the rings back, "keep them. You're going to be the one needing them, not me."

I stood up, "Thank you. I don't know how to repay you for all that you've done," I hesitated before I opened the door, "I don't understand it, but thank you."

"You saved Laure's life," he said simply, rising from his chair, "there is nothing to understand. I love my daughter, and I want to make her happy."

"You think this will make her happy?" I snapped, "Being married to a man like me? Has she told you anything about me at all?"

"I know everything," he said steadily, "I told you. I know your faults. But I have never condemned a man for making mistakes. I only hope that they won't be repeated."

"Paris is behind me," I muttered, "I won't be visiting that place again."

"I'm not just talking about Paris. Or Persia," he said softly, "I'm talking about you, chained to whatever it is you can't throw away. Cut it loose. You have no enemies here. Not in the family."

I looked away from him, not wanting to see the humanity that he possessed, the acceptance he was offering. The salvation. In my mind he was showing me what Giovanni never had. That there was somewhere for me in the world. For a brief period of time it had been in his cellar, yet he had never pushed the way Vincent was. Shoved would be a more appropriate term for what Vincent was doing.

"Its never too late for forgiveness."

I turned to look at him, wondering if he was a deeply religious man. A man who let his daughter live a lie, and stay in a house with her pretend to be husband.

"Sometimes, you shouldn't even bother asking," I replied, "because you know you don't deserve it."

He didn't say anything as I left, but I heard him sigh heavily, as if some of my grief had finally been realized. I twisted the band from my finger, staring at it for a moment, then tucked it into my coat with Laure's ring.

"Father?" Nicolas called from the _Donegal_, "I have to go into town, and the men are painting the deck, so I guess you're free for today," he hesitated a moment, "do you want to go?"

"No." I felt like my head was going to split open. The town most certainly didn't want to see me right now, nor I it.

He nodded, "I'll see you this evening then."

----------------------------------

I went into the house and found Laure there, with her mother. They both looked up in surprise as I entered the library, where Laure was standing on a chair, allowing her mother to hem a dress.

"No work today?" she asked, giving me a smile.

"Nicolas is going into town," I murmured, moving closer to her. She really didn't look steady there. As I got closer, she wobbled a little, laughing when I reached out to grasp her arm.

"I'm afraid I should have brought my step," her mother chided, "Erik, if you can keep her still for a moment, I won't take long."

"Of course, Madame Bourne."

"Clare," she corrected, removing a pin from her mouth to give me a stern look.

I nodded my head slightly, looking up at Laure. She was frowning at me, with her eyes narrowed towards my face.

"Are you okay?" she whispered, "You look as if you're running a fever."

"I'm fine."

Her hand moved from my shoulder to my forehead, cool against the hot flesh. She glanced down at her mother for a moment, and I tightened my arm around hers, daring her to say anything.

"You should be in bed," she leaned close to my ear, "you're burning up."

"Laure?" her mother said, not looking up at us, "Did you say something?"

"I said, please hurry up. I...My legs are getting tired."

"Well, I just wanted to finish this before the wedding. I think it would be perfect for your trip to and from the ship."

"Ship?" Laure asked, looking away from me, "What ship?"

Her mother stopped moving entirely, "Any chance you could forget I said that?"

"No. What ship?" she demanded, "I'm not leaving this island."

Clare sighed, tilting her head back to peer at her daughter, "You can't get married in a church, and the records would be available for anyone who wanted to look. Maritime law is different, and the license has been filed on the mainland. Since you won't leave, and you can't do it here, your father arranged for you to be married on a ship."

"Is this what you've been planning all month?" she asked.

"All month?" I said dazedly, "You've been planning a wedding for a month?"

"Not me," she said hastily, "my parents. I knew nothing about it."

I gave her a sardonic look, "This worked out well for you, didn't it?"

"I won't deny it."

"She is clueless," her mother said gently, "really, the girl has no idea what her father has been doing. Nicolas as well."

She worked for a few more moments on the dress, while I held Laure's arm, feeling at times that she was supporting me as much as I was her. I had begun to sweat in earnest now, feeling cold and clammy, my body starting in chills.

"Okay, Mother, that's enough for now. I'll come by later this evening and let you finish up," she said hurriedly, stepping down from the chair carefully.

"Well, I guess...but...," she began, but Laure was already packing her things into her sewing kit.

"I need to discuss something with Erik. Its urgent...," she was saying as she helped her from the library, but the room began to spin, and I slumped into the chair Laure had been standing on.

I closed my eyes, leaning back against the chair to stop the dizziness that was tugging on me. I needed to get upstairs, but didn't see how I would manage.

Laure came back into the room, feeling my forehead again, but I ignored her, trying to concentrate on the heaviness that my eyes suddenly seemed to have, wondering why I couldn't manage to open them.

"Stubborn man," she muttered, "not a lick of common sense."

I felt a cool cloth against my face for a moment, and she tugged ineffectively at my clothing for a moment.

"Erik?" she said softly, "I need you to sit up. Can you hear me?"

"You're more annoying than Nadir. Leave me alone, I'm perfectly fine."

"You are not fine," she seethed, "you're burning up."

I grunted when she yanked at my collar, trying to unbutton my waistcoat, then my undershirt. I grabbed her hand, "Don't lose them."

"Lose what?" she asked suspiciously.

"The rings. Your father's rings," I whispered, before I finally surrendered to the drowsy fog that was clouding my mind.


	29. Ungrateful

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Despite his warning, I had told my mother what was really going on, and I was grateful when my father showed up at the door. With Oman's help, they carried him upstairs, although I think my father bore most of the weight. With them holding him up, I removed his shirt and coats so I could keep him cool.

"He just collapsed?" Papa asked, "He looked tired when he came in this morning, but not like this."

"I don't know. He seemed to just...fall asleep. I...," I glanced beside his bed, seeing a small bottle of something. I picked it up, examining the amber vial, then sniffed. The pungent odor made my nose twitch.

I offered it to my father, but he didn't know what it was either. I sat beside Erik on the bed, but he was in a deep slumber and didn't even stir. He just looked as if he were sleeping. His forehead was still on fire, but he wasn't tossing or mumbling like most fevered patients. Nicolas himself talked frequently during a fever.

"He said something about rings. Told me not to lose them," I said over my shoulder, running a cloth against his chest and neck.

"Your grandparents rings. I gave them to him this morning."

"And what's this I hear about a ship?" I demanded, suddenly remembering the conversation in the library.

"That was supposed to be a surprise," he muttered.

"Well, now I'd like you to ruin it for me. Are we going somewhere?"

"No, not really. Just far out onto the horizon, where people won't be able to see you two getting married. On the deck of the cutter, with a captain for a minister, and the sea for a church," he replied casually, "I promise, we won't go far off the coast. That doesn't sound so bad, does it?"

"Papa, you know I hate the sea. I don't want to go out on a ship," I sighed, "do try and tone it down." I said softly, "Erik is going to be nervous enough. He doesn't need anything grand. I don't want him to feel like he has to live up to some standard."

"He does. He has to earn the right to be your husband, to be Nicolas's father. Its going to take time, and hard work, but I think he can do it. If he'll let go of the past."

I raised my finger to my lips, glancing worriedly back at him. I had no idea how asleep he truly was, and I didn't need anything being laid in his ears while he was half asleep.

"I...I'm going to try and make him more comfortable. Could you turn the lock on that door when you leave?" I said quietly, turning my attention back to him.

When he left, I ran the cloth across his body, watching as goose flesh rose on his warm skin. He was breathing regularly, didn't appear to be in any pain. I picked up the bottle again, smelling it, still not able to identify its contents.

I went down to the kitchen, letting Oman smell it.

"Erik makes his own medicine. He gave it to the children, gave it to the old men. Makes you sleepy," he said, giving me the bottle back.

"Why didn't he just stay in bed then?" I asked, exasperated. I was worried that he'd taken something toxic, or that he was seriously ill.

When I went back upstairs he was still out, but his fever had spiked. I bathed his face, looking at the mask for a moment, then reaching for it.

"No," he muttered, turning his head away from me.

"Erik? I need to cool our face off," I whispered, "let me..."

He shook his head, telling me again when I tried to touch his face. I gave up, and kept to the left side of his face, bathing under his neck and around his chest. I didn't want to destroy the fragile truce between us, especially days before our wedding. I remember him being very sensitive about what was beneath, and the degrading way the khanum made him remove it before us all. I also knew that Christine had taken it from him in the middle of a crowded theater. I didn't understand what made him want her, especially after that.

I moved to the chair beside the window, keeping the curtain drawn aside so I could look out the window towards the valley. The village of Adjaccio was below, with all the narrow minded people that I had avoided ever since I returned from Mazanderan. I hoped that Erik would be tolerated here. It didn't take much for him to lose his patience, not that I blamed him. For a man who preferred to keep to himself, he had already drawn a lot of attention.

Last night had shown me how little confidence he had in himself. He had been wounded greatly by Christine, as well as everything else his entire life. Thinking of the compass from last night, and the almost child-like reluctance he had to even show it to me had me wondering if he knew the meaning of trust. Certainly he had never experienced it.

"Laure?"

I turned when I heard his voice, dry and scratchy sounding. I leapt up and poured him a glass of water, sitting beside him on the bed as he drank it. I reached to touch his forehead, surprised to find it relatively cool. I leaned over and picked the vial up, "Did you take this?"

He peered at it a moment then lay back on the pillows, "Perhaps."

"What is it?" I demanded, "You were out cold, running a fever. I thought you had ingested a poison."

"This isn't Persia," he muttered, drawing the covers up around him then reaching up to touch his mask, "I haven't been poisoned since I left there."

I shook the vial at him slightly, determined to have an answer out of him. He sighed, "I made it. It usually doesn't affect me like this, but I took it after the fever had set in, and I never ate this morning."

"Are you hungry now?"

He nodded slightly, unable to suppress a yawn. I placed my hand across his on his chest, and he opened his eyes to give me a guarded look. I held his hand for a moment, feeling the uneven movement of his breathing beneath my hand, tracing my finger against the back of his. I knew he wasn't going to be easy now that he was conscious.

"How do you feel?" I asked gently, "Well enough to come downstairs, or would you prefer to eat up here?"

He scowled, "Downstairs."

"Do you need any help?"

The look told me everything, and I held my hands up in surrender, "I'm going," I leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek, surprising him, "I'll have Nina make you something. Come down in a few minutes."

If I had thought he would have accepted me, I would have crawled in that bed with him. Intimacy and affection were not things he was accustomed to. I only hoped that in time he would relax enough to allow me to show him everything I wanted to.

"Thank you," he whispered, reaching up to touch his cheek where I had kissed him, "I know I must be a burden on you."

"Never." I said firmly, sitting beside him again, "I think you were the best patient I've ever had. Once you were asleep of course," I said teasingly, "and you weren't down nearly as long as Nicolas."

"Does he get sick often?" he asked.

"No. But getting out in the rain like he was last night, and working down at the docks, sometimes he can't help it. Especially with the weather turning cool."

He shifted his legs in the bed, moving across to the other side and putting his feet on the floor. I watched carefully for any signs of dizziness, but it appeared he had simply taken a long nap today, and now he was going to be fine.

"What kind of medicine did you make? I didn't know your skills extended into medicine."

"Old gypsy cure," he grunted, pulling a clean shirt from his bureau, "I _lived_ among them when I was younger."

"They don't sound like fond memories," I prodded.

He fixed me with a level stare, "Not really. Being kept in a cage tends to put things into perspective," he said bitterly, buttoning up his shirt.

"A...cage?" I asked weakly.

"Forgive me, Madame...I would prefer a change of subject," he said coldly, looking around the room for his discarded clothes. He picked up his coat and reached into a pocket, pulling out several items and placing them on the table. I noticed the compass, as well as the two rings he had been concerned about, and several strands of silk threads, coiled into a neat loop. I reached for them, and he watched carefully until he was certain I wasn't aiming for the compass.

"What is this for?"

A smirk crept up his face, "For tricks, Madame, because that is what I do best."

"Tricks?" I repeated.

"Oh, yes," he said calmly, taking it from me and placing it inside his trouser pocket. He took the compass, but left the rings, "I have always liked to misguide people. It draws attention away from other things."

I chose to ignore his self mockery, "Are you ready to go downstairs?"

"After you, Madame."

"Call me that one more time..." I threatened, "...and you'll be fixing your own supper."

He raised his brow at me, and I knew he wished I had left the challenge open ended. He would have called me on it immediately. Instead, he followed me downstairs docilely, seating himself at the dining room table as I went in to find out what Nina had on hand. I wasn't a cook...my threat had been an empty one, but he didn't need to know that.

Nina served him, and I watched as she avoided looking at him directly, her movements sharp and jerky. Erik ignored her, but his mouth was tight, and his hand clenched around the stem of a wine glass. I wondered how I had not noticed before. He barely picked at his food as she stood to the side, ready to get him anything he needed.

"You can go," I said in a clipped tone, "I'll get him anything he requires."

The look of relief on her face infuriated me. She had been here for several years now. I hated to release her from her duties, but I would not tolerate that behavior in my household.

"She's fine," he muttered after she had left, "people can't help it."

"She is being paid to serve you, not gawk. I'm sorry I didn't realize how she was treating you."

His face tightened into anger, his eyes flashing as he leaned toward me. I knew at once that ever helping him today had been a mistake. It had threatened that careful shield he wore around himself. He didn't dare release it, even for a moment. Even for help.

"Pay attention, Laure," he growled at me, "because you're going to have to get used to that now. You're going to be my wife," he said in an almost sneer, "and that will possibly be worse than actually being me."

"Since I rarely leave the house, I don't see it being a problem," I said easily, ignoring his attempt to pick a fight with me, "and I doubt I receive anymore visitors, thank God."

He sat back and ate, but I could tell he was seething inside. He wanted me to admit to something I had no intention of doing. Something I didn't believe. That he was a monster, and I would become sub-human by marrying him.

"Do you know why I asked you to marry me?" he said snidely, "I did this for Nicolas. There was no other reason. I want my son beside me."

I bowed my head, exhaling against my chest. I had no idea if his words were true or not. If he spoke them simply to lash out, to keep me from feeling and seeing what he didn't want me to. If it was a reaction to my attempt to protect him in some way. I did know that they hurt. Terribly, yet I had given him no reason for my agreement to the marriage. I hadn't told him that I loved him, and that I wanted to share his burdens, hold him, comfort him, keep people like Maria Pollo and Nina out of his way.

"Then perhaps you should examine your proposal, Erik," I whispered, not looking at him, "because Nicolas will only be around for another couple of years. Then you'll be bound to me. As far as I'm concerned, you can continue to live here without the benefit of marriage, and give up all rights that you could claim as my husband," I dared to meet his eyes, even though mine were filled with tears. He was staring at me with fear etched across his features, remorse clouding the green depths of his eyes. "It is your choice. You can have a family, with love and respect, with joy and affection. More peace than I believe you think is possible. Or you can continue to live alone, carrying your misery around like a chain. You can live in that...cage," I said with a trace of anger and contempt, "for the rest of your life. Or you can finally be free." I reached across the table and took his hand, "We are freedom, Nicolas and I. All you have to do, is reach out and take it. We both want you to take it. There is no need to fear us."

I released him, pushing out of my chair on unsteady legs to go to my bedroom. He had truly wound me up again this evening, after all I had done to care for him, for him to begin behaving like that again. I prayed that this was not a permanent pattern with him. I wasn't sure how many more of his mood swings I could tolerate. He was going to find that when I'm angry, my temper can be just as bad as his.


	30. The Orchid

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I huddled close to the hearth in an attempt to warm the sudden iciness that had sliced through my veins. Her words caused an ache in my heart that I hadn't thought possible again. I cursed my stupidity for being callous, for needing to keep that distance, when all I really wanted, what I had always wanted, was for someone to look beyond my misery and see me drowning. I wanted someone to reach out, because I was terrified of doing it myself. My mother and Christine had effectively ripped apart any hope I ever had of earning respect from a woman.

I had asked my mother for two things in my life. One, were the kisses, which she had denied me with a vehemence that still stung deeply to this day. The other, after years of heartbreak and fear that she would send me away...when all I wanted was to see her smile, to make her love me...the only thing I could offer her was the gift of my absence. The words I had scrawled across the mirror...asking that she forget me.

I had wanted Christine to love me as well. That was all I had ever wanted, and suddenly there was a woman willing to offer...something...perhaps not love, perhaps not even fondness...yet I still had hope, even after all this time. I should have cast it aside long ago, when I had rid myself of respect and affinity for mankind.

I heard Nicolas come in and go directly upstairs. I didn't bother calling out to him. He didn't need to see me in my misery. I was surprised though, when Nadir came inside the library, looking at me on the floor with unease.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked cautiously, "Vincent tracked me down earlier, said you had been ill."

"I'm fine. Where have you been?"

He sat in a chair across from me, "In the village. I thought it best to give you some time alone."

"I appreciate it," I said, actually meaning it, "You don't have to stick around here if you have plans."

"I think I can bear your company awhile longer. Congratulations on the engagement."

I snorted, "It may be off, hold your salutations for the moment."

He was silent for a moment, then said softly, "She is an honorable woman. I think you should do everything in your power to convince her otherwise."

"She isn't the one who needs encouragement," I whispered, burying my face in my hands, removing the mask for a moment, "I can't change, Nadir," I snapped my fingers, "I can't change thirty five years worth of indulgence in depravity and carnage, of living in a nightmare. The only peace I have ever had was in the arms of a drug. The only joy, the laughter of your child...and now the wisdom of my own."

"If you marry her, there is the possibility of another thirty five years with her, at the very least. Thirty five years, that you can choose to live how you want. There can be more children...," he said, "...and I believe Laure will be a wonderful wife to you."

"More children?" I lowered my hands to look at him, "do you think she would want more...with me?"

"She hasn't complained about the one you've already given her, has she?"

Another child. The idea latched onto me with a ferocity that I couldn't shake. Suddenly I felt like if I couldn't see her, if I couldn't ask her, I would go mad. I stood abruptly, ignoring Nadir's startled look, and went upstairs to find her room. I knew where Nicolas's was at the very end of the hall. Hers was four bedrooms down from his, closer to the stairs. I knocked softly, but she didn't respond. I opened it carefully, making out her bed in the darkness, and her form lying across it.

"Laure?"

"She can't hear you," Nicolas said from behind me, "you're going to have to shake her, or shine a light at her if you want to wake her up."

I turned to look at him, looking down at his muddy clothes, and the bruise across his eye. I stepped out into the hall, "What happened to you?"

"Nothing new," he muttered, squinting at me, "I thought you were sick. Grandfather said you'd collapsed."

"I fell asleep," I insisted, taking him by the arm and leading him down to my room.

"What are you doing?" he asked suspiciously.

"Do you want your mother to know you've been in a fight?" I said grimly, "I have something that will have that down by tomorrow evening. Just avoid her in the morning."

"She's going to find out eventually. Grandfather will have to tell Grandmother, and she can't keep a secret."

"Well, then that gives you plenty of time to tell her yourself. Why were you fighting?" I asked, rummaging through my small black case, withdrawing a slimy green paste, dabbing it around his eye.

"You don't want to know."

I sat back and gave him a level stare, "If it concerns me, then I most certainly do."

"The girl I was kissing, Julianne," he spat, "she didn't tell me she was courting someone else."

"There is always someone else," I muttered, "but that doesn't mean you can go around beating the other guy up."

He flushed, "I didn't beat anyone up. She clubbed me."

"What?" I asked, feeling a well of laughter, "You got hit...by a girl?"

"Not the first time, probably not the last," he said, turning redder, but smiling, "it doesn't matter. There's going to be another willing one tomorrow, ready to feel sorry enough for me that I can steal another kiss."

"You might need to just take this, then," I said wryly, handing him the jar of herbs, "and try to remember that your mother probably hits harder than those girls, and she might be tempted to if she knows what you've been doing."

"I will," he said solemnly, but his eyes were twinkling, despite the swelling and the green junk surrounding his cheek and forehead, "Now...go wake her up. Or whatever you were going to do."

With a mocking smile he left. I waited a few moments before I went back to Laure's room, still very curious about the prospect of more children. Especially now.

"Laure?" I sat beside her on the bed, shaking her gently. She didn't respond at all. With a grimace, I rolled her over and picked her shoulders up from the bed, jostling her a little, "Laure, wake up. I need to speak with you."

Her mouth parted slightly in her slumber, and I traced a finger over her lips, unable to resist pressing a soft kiss there. She moved away from me with a sound of annoyance, but I captured her lips again, drawing her closer, realizing this was indecent, and not caring. She slowly began to respond to me, sighing in her sleep, reaching up to run her fingers through my hair, wrapping her arms around my neck.

"Erik? What are you doing?" she whispered, her eyes finally opening to look at me.

I apologized and tried to extricate myself from her, but she tightened her arms around me. The gesture caused a new surge of desire through me, a fierce and wanting notion that I was tempted to give in to. It made me want to say everything that I had denied her, denied myself.

"I need to speak with you," I rasped, kissing her again with tenderness. In the near darkness I found the courage I needed to say what I wanted, before I brought up the subject I had come in here for.

"I'm sorry for my behavior earlier. It was inexcusable, especially after you were kind enough to care for me."

She was silent for a long time. I shifted her in my arms, moving her closer by wrapping my arm around her lower back and sliding her across the bed. I wondered if my apology was enough.

"Laure?" I whispered, reaching up to touch her cheek, my heart tightening when I found it wet, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of those things."

I kissed her again, the only way I knew to make up for what I had said. She came alive then, kissing me back with the passion she had shown last night, groaning against me softly. Her hands slid inside the open collar of my shirt, brushing through the hair on my chest, then up around my shoulders.

"I have to ask you something," I whispered against her neck, kissing her the entire time, "I need to know...have you...would you...would you consider having more children? With me?"

She gasped, pulling her head away from mine, "What?"

I lowered my head suddenly, unable to look at her, fearing her reaction.

"Would you want more children, if we marry?"

She scrambled to her knees suddenly, "Are you serious?" she demanded, bracing her hands against my shoulders, "Don't toy with me, Erik."

"I-I'm not."

"I have always wanted more children," she said, her voice filling with tenderness, "and I would love to have yours. Nicolas was the most precious baby, so smart," she smiled, caressing my face, "so beautiful."

I suddenly had the notion she was speaking about me, but of course that wasn't possible. I was not beautiful. I gathered her against me, struggling not to cry in grief and joy, to give in to the emotion that threatened to destroy the last bit of restraint I had left. I was hanging on by a slender, gossamer-silk thread, and couldn't help but wonder what I was suspended over.

Was it the fire? Or the light?

Would the flames of divine wrath send my soul to purgatory, or would I be led to salvation, the narrow path to redemption?

Feeling her hands across my shoulders again, I could only hope it was the light. Breathing into her soft hair, the smell of flowers filling my senses, her body warm through the thinnest nightdress that I had ever seen. She might as well have been wearing nothing. The lacy white garment was soft and smooth as silk, and I ran my hands over her back gently, merely content to touch her, and have her touch me.

"I apologize for waking you. I just wanted to ask...," I sighed, unable to speak with my arms around her, not wanting to lose a moment of this embrace.

She leaned against me, laying her head against my shoulder and somehow maneuvering completely onto my lap. I held her tightly against me, looking down at her dark hair spilling across the white lace bodice of her nightdress, the gentle slope of her shoulders, the utterly feminine lady that lay in my arms. Her eyes had drifted closed, her face turned against my chest, and I knew she was going to fall asleep. I didn't dare move, lest I should miss this miracle. Her body slowly became heavier in my arms as she drifted off, her hand moving from my shoulder to the inside of my coat, lying flat against my ribs.

I wondered how I had never noticed how beautiful she was. Tonight, she was unequaled, by any woman I had ever seen. Christine's beauty could not compare to this _woman_. Christine was a pale, faded rose.

Laure, was an orchid...and suddenly roses did not seem beautiful to me at all.

I sat there for a long time, wanting more, denying myself once again. I had been denying myself this thing for far too long. Longer than any man should ever have to. Yet I had no desire for it to be as hurried and strained as our last encounter. I wanted more with her. I wanted to give myself to her, in a way that I wasn't sure was possible. She was in my soul now, in my heart, and I would only allow that careful exploration to begin once we were married. When I knew that there was no escape for her. When I was certain that escape was the last thing she wanted.

Holding her now, feeling her hip pressed into the rigid flesh beneath my fly, I hoped that the day would soon arrive. I was beginning to grow incredibly impatient.


	31. Trust Me

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

I woke up the next morning, feeling oddly at peace. Usually I wasn't a morning person, but I stretched in bed, smiling for no apparent reason at all. Until I saw what was on the table next to me. A beautiful, fiery orange and red orchid, its two lateral petals glowing like sunset, and the lip petal a blood red that seemed to draw your attention away from anything else in the room. I sat up quickly, reaching out cautiously to touch it, then stopped. It looked so fragile, yet strong. Vibrant.

Suddenly I recalled being wakened in a most extraordinary manner. From sensual dreams to blinding reality. A lover's slumber, to a lover's embrace. It was odd how those last few moments of restful sleep can turn your dreams around suddenly, and you find yourself acting out what you were fantasizing about in your sleep. My only regret was falling back asleep, because I should have persuaded him to stay.

I slid out of bed, leaning down to inhale the delicate fragrance of the flower, the exotic and tantalizing beauty that beckoned me closer until I was seeing nothing but the brilliance of God's own handiwork. It was still inside a clay pot, its fate uncompromisable in its delicate little world. I knew immediately who had procured it, and had a suspicion where.

Orchids are not native to Corsica.

When I went downstairs he was sitting alone at the table, brooding into a cup of coffee. I stepped behind him and placed my hands on his shoulders, startling him. He looked up to me for a moment before he smiled slowly, "Good morning."

"Good morning, yourself," I said softly, leaning down to place a kiss on his lips. He tasted of warm coffee and oddly, chocolate, and I urged him deeper, not caring if anyone happened to come in, just wanting to experience the rush of desire in the morning light with him. The quiet intimacy of a new day, with the promise of forgetting nearly everything that had transpired yesterday.

"Thank you for the orchid," I said, sitting across from him at last, "I hope you weren't too obvious sneaking around the hothouse in the village."

"Not obvious at all," he smiled, taking a drink of his coffee, "don't worry, I left adequate compensation for my theft."

"When...?"

"Early this morning. I couldn't sleep last night, since I was content enough to sleep all day yesterday," he said easily, "this is a quiet little community just before dawn."

"Well, I haven't seen _just before dawn_ in a very long time, and I haven't been to the village in several weeks."

"They're just people, Laure. They can't hurt you unless you let them," he took my hand, brushing a long finger across my knuckles.

"What about you? You created a home no one could find, and never wanted to see people again," I said sadly, "there are times when I have envied you and your seclusion. I used to be accepted here. I was so young when I left, and when I came back...everything had changed," I looked away, "especially me."

"I built my home so people wouldn't have to see me, and I wouldn't have to see them, unless I chose. Don't think for a moment I was happy. It was simply easier for me not to exist anymore."

He stood suddenly and leaned down to kiss me, excusing himself to go work at the docks. I smiled, thinking that maybe he had procrastinated just long enough to see me this morning.

Maybe. Maybe.

My mother was only too happy to finish my dress, as well as make one final fitting for the wedding gown. I waited patiently, standing on her small step stool as she moved around me, working ferociously to hem the dress.

"So, when am I getting married?"

"Saturday, I think," she said carefully with pins in her mouth, "I'm supposed to have Nicolas's formal attire completed by then."

Saturday. Today was Thursday. That left me two more days, and two more nights of longing, of wanting.

"Is Papa sure that getting married on a ship by a sea captain is legal?" I asked skeptically.

"Of course it is," she said, "don't doubt anything your father says about ships. He knows you have to get married in secret, but that doesn't mean it can' t be special."

"I trust him. I'm just not fond of ships."

She sighed, "I know. When you came home, I wanted to move as far from this island as I could. I wanted to take you and put you in the middle of Paris, or Rome. Somewhere civilized, with the protection of the land surrounding you for miles and miles."

"Everything worked out," I said softly, "I'm very happy now."

She looked up to me for a moment, "Is he what you remember?"

"Yes and no," I replied, looking back at her in consternation, "I exalted him, so high that no man could have ever attained the pedestal I cast him onto. I was so young, foolish, and I gladly ignored everything about him that was frightening and cruel. But I know that there is more beneath. I know what is waiting for me," I smiled, "and I am intent upon revealing it to myself, and to him."

"Well," she leaned over to grab the scissors, snipping the thread effectively, "we are done here," she smiled for a moment as she helped me down from the stool. "I just want you to be happy, Laure. You deserve it."

"Thanks, Mama," I kissed her cheek.

She loved the endearment, although it was one I didn't use often. I understood though. Nicolas had stopped calling me that around the age of ten. It was a word that could bring a smile to your face at any time of the day.

"Now, you go home and see if those boys are back from work. You should spend some time together. Make Nicolas stay in tonight, and away from that Julianne girl," she said, scolding Nicolas for getting into girl trouble again.

I laughed. I hadn't seen his eye yet, but it couldn't be any worse than the last time a girl had hit him. My father had repeated talks with him about the virtues of women, yet he just couldn't help himself. The girls around the village flocked to him like the gulls did to free fish.

---------------

They weren't back from the docks yet, and didn't come in until well after dark. I had a long talk with Nina, making her understand that unless she was able to perform her job with the proper etiquette, she would be relieved of her duties. After sobbing for several moments, she had apologized and promised she would behave accordingly.

During dinner I watched for any sign of disobedience, but she seemed to be more afraid of me this time, than Erik. Nicolas tried to hide his eye when he came in, but I had caught him, and he ducked his head in embarrassment.

"I hope the next girl gives you one to match." I said without any sympathy, "Are you attempting to set some record, Nicolas? There are perhaps one thousand marriageable girls in this village. Is there a limit to the ones you are intent on kissing, or one in particular you are working your way towards?"

His eyes widened, "Marriage?"

I could practically smell the fear that was in his blood. I smiled grimly, "Why yes, although I had hoped you would wait a few more years. But marriage is what generally follows stolen kisses. You should choose wisely. I would hate it if you found yourself married to a witless shrew."

"I'm not getting married!" he burst out, looking toward Erik for help.

"Then I suggest you limit your...activities. If even one father finds his way to my doorstep in outrage, there is little I can do but offer a betrothal. Then where will you be?"

He sank back against his chair, looking properly miserable. I turned to Erik, seeing he was having great difficulty in suppressing laughter. He glanced up at me a moment, and I silently laughed with him. He reached out suddenly and took my hand, bringing it to his lips for a moment, closing his eyes as he kissed me.

"You are excused, Nicolas," he murmured, "I want to speak with your mother."

"I'm not finished."

Erik didn't move his eyes off mine, "Take it with you."

Dimly I heard him gathering his plate in disgruntlement before he left us alone. I waited expectantly for him to say something, wondering what had possessed him to dismiss our son barely midway through dinner.

"Did you know we are getting married on Saturday?" he asked softly, returning to his plate as if nothing were amiss.

"Y-yes, I did. Why?" I asked suspiciously.

"I was wondering if you had reconsidered after all. I was quite ill tempered last night, and I do apologize for it."

"Nothing can change my mind," I whispered, my throat tightening, "I've wanted this for a very long time."

"I'm pleased, then," he said quietly, "and honored to marry you. I hope I can provide you with everything a wife requires, although I am in no way sure of what those things are."

I smiled and reached under the table to touch his knee. He jumped slightly, then gave me a slow and long look.

"I'm sure we will both learn a great deal," I whispered, squeezing slightly, "and we will both enjoy many benefits of the...arrangement."

His mouth parted slightly as I said the words, and I'm sure I did more than blush at the suggestiveness of my response. His eyes were quickly turning into open shades of green desire, and I felt my own breath catch in the charged moment.

"Saturday seems so far off...," he said, closing his eyes, "I...I think I'm going to take a walk. A long walk."

"Where?"

"Near the coast. Would you like to come with me?" he asked, reaching down to move my hand back to the table.

"Not the coast," I said shakily, "I don't go there anymore."

"Because of Pascal Messere?" he asked gently.

I nodded my head slightly, turning to stare at the wall.

"Do you still...love him? Your fiance, correct?"

"No, not my fiance," I said firmly, "we would have eventually married. We were both young, we grew up together," I looked back to him suddenly, "and young love is...quite different. It is transient, not really what I would call lasting."

Not like you, I wanted to say, but didn't.

"Come to the cove with me," he said with exquisite softness, "I will protect you."

"Erik...," I began fearfully.

_"Trust me."_

I had no choice but to obey that command.


	32. In the Cove

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

She gathered a blanket and our cloaks and met me outside, and I could tell that she was reluctant when I took her hand in mine and led her to the cove. It was a fairly cool night, with a blue moon peering through the clouds in the night sky, reflecting off the sea that stretched for endless miles. The dark wind blew against our clothing, rolling off the water as effortlessly as the waves upon the sand. We stood on the beach for several moments, and I watched her looking out over the small inlet with fear, searching the trees for any movement, looking out over the water for hoisted sails with a skull emblem.

"We're alone," I said reassuringly, leading her farther into the cove.

"I'm sorry," she said nervously, "there hasn't been a pirate ship here since I left, but I just can't get that night out of my mind. I was never so terrified in my entire life."

"What happened?" I asked quietly.

She exhaled sharply and realigned her fingers through mine, squeezing for a moment. I glanced at her, and her eyes were closed, as though she were remembering in great detail. I stopped her by the shoulders and turned her towards me, taking both her hands and tossing the blanket aside.

"They attacked over there," she turned her head towards the center of the cove, looking out with a sadness that overshadowed her entire face, "I didn't even know what was going on. It was so swift...so brutal," she shuddered, stepping closer to me, "they killed him instantly...then turned to me."

I put my arms around her back and pulled her closer, placing my hands hesitantly at her waist, holding my breath until she relaxed against me, pressing her cheek against my chest.

"They didn't hurt you, did they?" I whispered against the top of her head.

"No, but they humiliated me," she said scathingly, "they forced me to be examined...with all of them present. They said things...disgusting things. I wouldn't stop screaming, so they gagged me and chained me to the wall inside the captain's chambers."

Anger shot through me like a flame, and I tightened my arms around her in response to a primitive notion that I knew I would never be able to fully abandon. If I had been here that night, an empty ship would have sat on the sea, filled only with the bodies of many, many dead pirates.

"I stayed there for...a long time. Until they reached a port, and I was sold to a slave trader. He actually wasn't so bad," she laughed shakily, "he treated us all kindly, didn't allow us to be bruised or under fed. He was generous, for a peddler of flesh. Someone came from the shah's palace, looking for girls of European descent. I was delivered to the palace, where I promptly received my first beating from the khanum."

"I was already in service when you arrived?" I asked suddenly.

"Yes." she whispered, tilting her head back to look at me, "Can I tell you something, Erik? You must promise not to become angry."

"You may not want to tell me then," I said mildly, "I cannot promise that my anger will be subdued, if it is something terrible."

"Not so terrible," she said, giving me a small smile, "I'm quite certain you already know about the spies, but I wanted to tell you that I was one."

"You?" I laughed, "Nadir never told me."

"He didn't know. I gave half of the money to Oman, from what I was paid to listen to your conversations with the khanum. There were other girls before me, but some of them died...I think she suspected them, and had them killed. But she never suspected me."

"Don't count on that," I said dryly, "she knew far more than she wished to reveal. Nadir had spies. She had a legion of people she rewarded for their attentive ears. You only relayed to Nadir what she wished you to deliver."

"Oh." her eyes lingered on the mask for a moment, before she reached up and caressed my cheek, "would you like to sit down?" she asked softly, indicating the blanket I had cast aside.

Without waiting for a response she turned and flicked the blanket into the air, allowing it to settle against the sand. She looked around for a moment in apprehension, as if fearful that someone might be watching.

"We're alone," I said again, "and even if we weren't, I'm not without skills to defend you."

"You're unarmed," she said curtly, "there is little even you can do against a rapier."

"My lady, I am never unarmed," I said calmly.

When she turned around to look at me in disbelief, I opened my coat to show her the lasso, as well as a small cudgel, and a dagger. "This does not include tricks I use to frighten fools," I murmured, seating myself on the blanket and taking her hand to guide her to me.

She surprised me by sitting between my legs, resting her back against my chest. I held my arms at my sides, uncertain what to do with them, but she grabbed my hands and wrapped them around her, pulling my cloak around us both. The night air was cool against my face, but the rest of me became very, very warm.

"I have a confession as well," I said against her ear, feeling tenseness enter her body, "I heard you telling Nicolas about Persia."

"You did?" she asked in a small voice, "I...where...?"

"I was sitting in the room with both of you," I replied steadily, "thank you for sparing him from the...details. I pray that he never finds out how many people have suffered at my hands."

She was silent for a long time, her body tensing even more in front of me. I brushed the hair away from her neck and leaned forward to press a kiss there, turning her face slightly to kiss her cheek as well.

"Is something wrong?"

"N-no," she whispered, giving me a strained smile, "nothing at all."

I sensed she was withholding something, but assumed she was embarrassed about her confession to Nicolas. About our night together being special.

"It meant something to me as well," I said gruffly, ducking my head when she turned around to look at me.

"What?"

"That night...it meant something. You have no idea...," I whispered softly, "I never expected for anything like that to happen. With anyone willing, because I never would have forced a woman. It is a crime I could never commit, despite everything else I have ever done," I paused, "even though I didn't think it was real...after the drug wore off...I was constantly remembering...hearing things. I thought I was going mad, thinking about a night that never existed. Even after I left Persia...even in Paris."

"What about the images in the harem? How was that different?"

"Those things never happened. I never...felt...," I broke off suddenly, my voice turning into the barest of sound, "I never felt their arms around me. I never had them saying such sweet things to me, such...personal and beautiful things. They told me other things...seductive, but not real. Not like you."

"I've never been with another man," she said without taking a breath, "no other man, but you."

My heart vaulted against my ribs at her bold confession, stealing my speaking skills and rendering me into idiocy. I had no idea what to say to that. I hadn't even considered the possibility that she had ever had another man, and the very thought that she _could _have made me angry, even though she had just admitted that there had been no one.

"I...I received my first kiss from you as well," she said softly, flexing her neck down towards her chest.

"Laure," I whispered weakly against her skin, pulling her body back against mine, sliding my hand around her waist and sliding her tightly against my thighs, "you shouldn't tell me those things. You're going to break me."

"I want to break you," she said thickly, rolling her head against my shoulder, "I want to smash every wall you have ever built, I want to resurrect you from your grave of hopelessness, and burn every memory that has ever hurt you. If my words can destroy your shield, then I am determined to confess everything to you."

With shaking hands around her body, I didn't dare tell her how enormous the fissure on that shield already was. Her words had the power to save me, but also the power to destroy me. If I dared confess the emotions she wrought inside my frigid soul, into the soul and heart that was melting by painful and methodical degrees, I would have nothing left. No defense against her, and the absolute control she could reign on my heart.

"Not tonight," I pleaded against her skin, "not tomorrow, but especially not tonight."

She released a breath she had been holding, leaning against me in coiled anticipation, but neither of us moved away, and we did not pursue the aching desire that had our breaths creating vigorous clouds in the cool night air.

"We should return to the house," Laure finally said after a long time, "it is rather cold out here."

I agreed, taking her hand and helping her to her feet. The cold was sometimes beneficial. Especially to a man who has only found physical release once in his lifetime, and who was waiting with nervous anticipation for his wedding night, only one more day away from beginning.

We walked in tense silence back to the house, and I knew I disappointed her by not entering her room and kissing her, by not taking what I wanted, and I knew suddenly that she did, possibly more than me. I lay awake for an hour, wondering exactly what other things she had learned as an odalisque.

Things she had learned...to prepare herself for me.


	33. Walls

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

As disappointed as I had been by him leaving me last night, I couldn't help but feel a little relief. I felt a strong sense of guilt for keeping the secret about Nicolas and the missing letter, but I wasn't willing to compromise the fragile bond that they had developed. I didn't want anything between us either, not when he had opened up to me so readily yesterday. I could tell I was close, at the very least to the surface of his protective security shield, and I wondered how very deep I would have to go. He had all but admitted to me that he felt exposed to me. I intended to do so much more.

So I kept silent about the letter, joyfully ignoring the nagging voice that told me I needed to be honest with them both. Only a foolish woman would destroy the festive mood that my parents were in, and the complete and utter happiness that Nicolas exuded when I went downstairs the next morning.

"There you are!" he exclaimed, embracing me and spinning me around. He nearly squeezed the air from my lungs in his delight. I put my hands around his shoulders, unable to repress the laughter that welled in my throat, "I was about to go wake you."

"Nicolas! Put me down!" I demanded, but I was unable to keep a fierce tone, "What has gotten into you?"

"My mother is getting married. Why shouldn't I be happy?"

"Well, if you're this energetic today, I can only imagine what you'll be like tomorrow," I said when he finally set me down.

"Yes... _energetic_, that's the term I would use," Erik said sarcastically behind us.

We both turned to look at him, bursting into laughter at his irritated expression. He narrowed his eyes at us a moment, but didn't comment on our display.

"Have you been troublesome, Nicolas?"

"Only a little," he said in a solemn tone, his eyes anything but.

"Doesn't your grandfather have something for you to do?" I asked pointedly.

"No. I've completed what he needed, while you were still sleeping," he said with good nature, "but Grandmother has some sewing on my coat to finish."

"Then go bother her," I said firmly, risking a glance at Erik. He was keeping his gaze carefully on the floor, hiding a smile.

Nicolas rolled his eyes at me for a moment, then caught himself and apologized before going out the back door. I turned to look at Erik, finding him still looking at the floor. I moved closer to him, tilting my head down to catch his eye until he looked up at me.

"Did you have a pleasant sleep?" I murmured, daring to touch his arm.

Erik moved slowly towards me, his eyes homing in on my mouth, and my lips parted in anticipation of his. He lowered his head to mine, brushing a kiss across my lips. He looked into my eyes for a moment, as if asking for permission, then kissed me again with gentleness and reverence. He lit a strong and delicate flame of desire in me, making me ache with the sweet seduction he was willing to explore. His hands wrapped around me at length, a firm hand pressing into my lower back, bringing me closer...and closer...until there was no room between us at all.

I gasped as I felt him pressed against my stomach and lower body. I was the perfect height for him, and he seemed to realize it suddenly as his flesh bore into mine. His head drew back in surprise, his eyes widening at the overwhelming surge of want and need that penetrated us both. He stared at me in dazed arousal for a moment before he lowered his head again, kissing me with hunger and desperation, his hands roaming over my back in wonder, exploring me through my clothing with the familiarity of an old lover.

"Laure," he groaned against my face, "what have I started? This is madness this early in the day."

"We only have one more day," I panted, throwing my head back as his mouth swept across my neck, "...one more day, and this will never be denied again."

"One more day of torture," he corrected swiftly, "absolute torture."

He pulled me into the library suddenly, closing the door behind us with a sharp slap against the wood. I stared at him warily, breathing just as heavily as he was, waiting expectantly for him to come towards me. After a moment I heard people in the hall, and realized why he had moved us. I had thought it was...for privacy. My hopes plummeted when I heard Nadir speaking with my father.

"Well, I'm delighted you could make it for the ceremony," my father was saying, "it's too bad he doesn't have any family present."

I looked over to Erik, finding a flash of anger in his eyes. I reached out and touched his shoulder, shaking my head when he attempted to open the door.

"He's just trying to help," I whispered.

"I don't want that sort of help," he muttered, but he moved away from the door. I followed him, until we could not make out what they were saying, but their voices were still audible.

I looked down at his hands, and the silver compass was there. His thumb stroked it absently while he gazed into nothing. I startled him by closing my hand over his, lifting his hand to examine the silver object, rather than taking it.

"This means a lot to you, doesn't it?" I asked softly, "You said your father gave it to you. Is he still alive?"

"No."

"Do you mind telling me a little about your family?" I asked gently, "You don't have to go into detail," I said hastily when he began to frown, "just...tell me a little."

"I never knew my real father," he muttered, "he died before I was born. Giovanni was a master mason in Rome," he held the compass up, "I will always consider him my father. He took me in after the gypsies...after I escaped...and showed me everything about architecture. He must have died while I was in Persia. When I went back to Rome...he was gone."

"You mentioned your mother once...and Marie...," I prodded.

"My mother," he sighed, "you don't want to hear about her. Lets just say...we didn't get along." he reached up to touch his mask for a moment, his eyes filled with pain. "My mother was nothing like you...or your mother. You're a very lucky woman, Laure, and Nicolas is a lucky boy. Marie was her friend. She sheltered me...when she could...as best she could. My mother loved my father, and I think that was all she was capable of. That and hate," he whispered, looking at the floor, "so much hate."

"Why don't you know your last name? Were your parents married?" I asked softly, my eyes filled with tears as my heart wrenched inside. Such pain, such tragedy. For a man so...capable of love and kindness...of gentleness and passion. His heart hadn't been broken before...it had been removed with the careless precision of a bone grubber, intent on experimenting on his cadaver.

"Yes. They were married. But I never knew my last name...never cared to learn it after I left that place. I didn't get far before I was captured by the gypsy clan. After that...I learned to care about very little, except trying to retain some dignity."

"Why did they...imprison you?" I whispered, reaching out to take his hand.

"I made a fortune...on...display," he said in a low voice, his eyes filled with shame, "they...they put me in a cage. After awhile I did performances, ventriloquism...magic shows...it earned me a little freedom in the clan, but not much."

"I'm sorry...," I said softly, trying not to cry, "I...I won't ask you to bring this up again. I know it must hurt."

He closed his eyes, turning his face away, but he nodded.

"Thank you," he said in a raw voice, "I prefer not to speak of it again, if you don't mind."

"Of course," I leaned forward impulsively to embrace him, and he allowed it, although his body was taut, and he didn't return my affection, "I...I have some things to attend to. I'm sorry." I said again, knowing he was no longer in the mood for my company. I only hoped that I hadn't sent him spiraling along some path that would put him in a black mood for the remainder of the day. I felt completely drained after listening to his terrible life.

I crept upstairs, out of sight into my room and locked the door, where I promptly burst into tears for the man that I should have been crying with, not for. I would humiliate him if I cried in front of him, over his life, over his miserable past. I hoped he never had to bring this stuff up again, if it was this painful for him, which I knew it must be. If it were anyone else, talking could possibly cleanse the soul, ease his burden. The things he had to share were so painful, so beyond his control, and yet he was ashamed of them, of himself. I hoped I could erase those memories, replace them with such happiness and love, so much joy and sweetness, that he wouldn't have to keep looking over his shoulder, waiting for someone to come forth and torment him again.

Waiting for the next Christine to break his heart, take his mask, and reduce him to nothing more than an object to pity. He was not an easy man to defeat...in combat...in intelligence, but when it came to the heart, to the true core of his being...only walls stood in my way. I intended to conquer him, and _be_ the wall, be the only buffer he would need against the world. I only hoped I was enough.


	34. One Day

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I was shaken by my confessions to her, by the complete and utter _stupidity_ I had to tell her things that I have never shared with anyone. Not Nadir. Not even Christine. I had not spoken Giovanni's name in over twenty years. After I had left, I had tried my best not to think of him, yet ironically the compass was a source of comfort. His gift to me, and all that I had left of him except memories.

I crept up the stairs slowly, pausing at the top of the stairs when I saw Nadir's door open, and his concerned face peering out at me. I started to speak, but he held a finger to his lips, gesturing for me to be silent. I listened attentively for a moment until I heard it: she was crying.

Soft, wailing sobs emitted from the other side of her bedroom door, and I moved closer to it, seeing darkness beneath the edge of the door. I turned to look at Nadir, and his eyes were accusing now, looking at me with contempt and malevolence.

"I did nothing!" I whispered vehemently.

His mouth tightened and he turned his head toward the noise, "Then why is she crying?"

"For God's sake, don't assume it's _my_ fault!" I snapped, struggling to control my volume, "Just because a woman is crying doesn't mean I did anything!"

All sound ceased behind the door, except for a shuffling as she moved around inside. I closed my eyes, looking to the ceiling for answers, but when I looked back to Nadir I could tell he wanted me to go to her. He gestured defiantly with his chin, his dark eyes narrowing when I started to glare at him.

"She's to be your _wife,_ my friend," he said softly, "there is no other man who should be comforting her right now."

With a mocking smile, he closed the door in my face.

I moved to her door with the exuberance of a man facing the gallows, knocking hesitantly then stepping back when it swung open. Her eyes were red rimmed, wide eyed, and she tried to keep from looking directly at me as she whispered, "Yes?"

"Is everything okay?" I grumbled.

"I'm fine," she said in a trembling voice, "...please go away."

That did it. Impatiently I reached out and tugged her into the hallway, out of the dark confines of her room. I needed no further encouragement this morning after nearly ravishing her in the hallway, and the bed behind her was too great of a temptation. I only prayed Nadir kept his door shut.

"Tell me," I demanded, wincing when she flinched at my tone. I was afraid she had regretted everything, the marriage, the promise of everything afterwards. Had my past frightened her?

"You don't want to hear it...," she whispered.

I cupped her face in my hands, "Yes I do. You're crying...and I feel like I've done something wrong. Is it...what I told you earlier?"

Her hazel eyes filled with tears once more, and she nodded helplessly, "I'm sorry. I know you don't want me to...to feel for you...to care for you, but I can't stop. You never should have gone through that. I'm terribly sorry," she said again, wiping tears from her eyes with jerky movements.

Laure's words silenced me, as nothing else had before. She felt for me? She cared for me? How was that possible? We barely knew each other, and except for the night we created Nicolas, our relationship barely spanned a week. I understood what the night had meant to her...it had been her first time, mine as well. But...for her to have feelings for me, it was too much to believe.

I realized suddenly that I felt things for her to. Frightening things, like devotion, and a desire to be loyal. Protective. But beyond that, I dared not examine anything else too closely. My last and only attempt to earn a woman's affection had been disastrous. I wondered if I would have the courage to pursue her in that manner, even after she was my wife.

Being intimate was one thing...pledging...love, well that was another thing entirely.

"Shh," I murmured soothingly, reaching out to touch her wet cheek, "please don't do that...please don't cry."

"I can't h-help it," she sobbed, her chin quivering slightly, "those things are terrible...I can remember what it was like being chained to a wall, defenseless and alone. But they never hurt _me_," she reached up to touch my cheek, "not like they hurt you. How long were you with them?"

"Laure..."

"How long?" she said insistently.

"Two...close to three years," I said miserably.

"How old were you?" she demanded, then sighed, "I'm sorry. I said I wouldn't do this to you. You don't deserve this," she whispered, her hand brushing hair from my face the way I had seen her doing with Nicolas. Dutifully I leaned in, fascinated by the gesture, wishing she would do it again.

"I was around eleven when I was captured," I said grudgingly, hoping it would earn me another caress. I lowered my eyes, trying to hide my Achilles heel: motherly affection. She wasn't my mother, she was to be my wife. Yet the courtesy of that sort of touch was foreign to me, as were so many other things. Like an answered prayer, she did it again, smoothing my hair away from my face then keeping her fingers suspended in the locks.

"Barely older than Nicolas," she said painfully, "and they treated you like an animal. Because of this," she caressed the mask suddenly, her thumb closing over the eye hole, brushing against my lid when I closed it. She repeated the movement when I exhaled sharply against her wrist, and I turned my lips against her skin for a moment, thanking her for her gentleness, for her compassion.

"I won't remove it," I said quietly, "I won't."

"I will never ask you to," she said calmly, "and I will never take your mask. Not ever again."

I flinched when she gave it a name, a connotation that associated it as being mine. As part of me.

"You did that night, didn't you?" I said in alarm, "When I sent you off?"

"Yes. I wanted to see your face...I wanted to see you...," she replied, lowering her eyes to the floor, "I didn't think I _would_ ever see you again, and I wanted to remember more than a mask."

'Then why did you paint only masks?' I wanted to ask, but didn't.

I remembered that she had seen me many more times, with the khanum. I vaguely recall us discussing the mask the night she was sent to me, and I had been angry she dared to mention it to me. After Aysel, when she refused to remove it, to see what was beneath...I wanted to forget about my mask. Laure had told me to forget everything else that night...and the entire time I had held her, when she had lain beneath me, responding like a woman, and not a young girl...I _had _forgotten. The only reminder was a barrier between us...preventing me from kissing her. It had not been entirely the mask. Much of it was self restraint, and refusal to give in to something I was offered, that I had been denied once by the one woman who should have gladly given me what I wanted. She had made me ask, then made me swear never to ask again once she turned me down. My mother.

"Laure...," I began slowly, "I think you have a wonderful and capable heart. But, don't feel sorry for me. I've done things since I left the gypsies...since I left Persia, and they have been horrific enough that you shouldn't...," I stopped when she placed her palm against my mouth.

"I know...you don't have to say anything. I just wanted to tell you...all that pain, if I could have been there, done something, you wouldn't have been alone. I would have done anything to keep that away from you," she said, reaching up to kiss my cheek carefully, "you deserved more than that, and I just couldn't help but _feel_, and _hurt_, because you had to go through that. That's all I wanted to say."

I nodded my head, glancing up into her eyes occasionally to make sure she had stopped crying. I would do anything for this conversation to be over. When it seemed she had settled down, although my own heart was still racing, and anger was laced with pain, still boiling beneath the surface, I finally excused myself to go find Vincent.

I didn't need to see him, but she had crushed a careful balance I kept in my life, and come far too close to pitying me for my comfort. Instead I boarded the cutter, looking around it for several moments, taking solace in the dark confines of the captain's chamber. I wondered what the hell I would do with a ship this large, and how we were going to manage being wed on it tomorrow. I was no longer in the mood for the company of the caring people who I had infiltrated.

My mind was far to warped to accept their easy affection, and the emotion and loyalty that had been displayed so far. I settled back against the chair, prepared to spend the last day as a bachelor staring at a wall in misery.

-------------------

I know this One Day is taking forever, but there's alot I need to say. Possibly one more chapter before the day of the wedding. Sorry I haven't updated, but my hubby gripes if I'm in here on the computer while he's home, and for some odd reason he has been home all weekend. Keep your fingers crossed, and I may be able to start another chapter before I have to fix supper for him.


	35. The Last Night of Freedom

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

My father found me sitting on the veranda, looking out over the island in veritable misery. I had resolved to stay out of Erik's way for the rest of the day, since it seemed the only thing I was capable of doing was bringing him grief, and forcing him to discuss painful memories.

"Laure?"

I looked over my shoulder, "Yes, Papa?"

He sighed as he sat down, the joints in his legs popping painfully as he moved, reminding me at once that he wouldn't live forever. How glad I was that he would be at my wedding tomorrow! One more treasure for me to have, one more cherished moment I had with him.

"I'd like to take Nicolas to Marseilles with me after the wedding tomorrow." He raised his hand when I opened my mouth to protest, "Now, just listen," he said impatiently, "you two need some time alone, and I need to go talk to the naval architect for the _Donegal_, and as chief shipwright, Nicolas knows more about the vessel than I do. We'll be gone a week, possibly a few days more."

"Papa...," I began threateningly, but he gave me a look that silenced me again.

"You've never objected to him going with me before."

"Well, forgive me, but this is just a little too obvious, don't you think?" I snorted, turning to look out over the island.

"Think whatever you like," he said flatly, "this is not just about you, though. I do have a business to run, and since you are too stubborn to take a honeymoon, this is the best I can do for you."

I wouldn't admit it to him, but the idea was appealing...to say the least. I knew Erik might not think so, and would undoubtedly be mortified at my father's bold and not so subtle gesture.

"How long is it to Marseilles?"

"About three days, depending on the wind. Possibly more if we have to fight it, then I have to arrange a meeting with the naval architect. We'll be back in no time," he said reassuringly.

"Keep him safe," I said softly, "and yourself."

He leaned over and kissed my forehead, dismissing my motherly worries and fears, as always.

"I have to go inform your mother," he said gently, "keep an eye on her while I'm gone."

"Of course."

I watched him amble along the worn path up the ridge, then descend towards their house, wondering what Erik was going to think about having me alone for a week. With a wicked grin, I decided that perhaps it wouldn't be so bad.

Certainly not for him.

----------------------

Mother invited us all over for dinner that night, and despite Erik's nervousness, he eventually was drawn out of his shell by Nicolas, and was talkative, even if he wasn't smiling. Nina was on loan for the evening, to ease the burden my mother had of preparing the wedding, and cooking a proper family dinner, and she seemed fascinated by the interaction my parents had with Erik, as if seeing him in a new light. Acceptance from other people is a miraculous thing to doubters, and people who have prejudice for no apparent reason other than fear.

Nadir was watching Erik with an amusing smirk across his mouth, which Erik ignored for the most part, and scowled at him for the other.

"Father, you should show us some tricks after dinner," Nicolas said excitedly, turning to look at me, "he can make things disappear, and can pick pockets."

I met Erik's eye across the table, seeing a mocking smile on his face, "Can you?"

He nodded, apparently not ashamed of that skill. I had no doubts about his abilities, when moments later as we entered the dining room, he pressed my father's pocket watch into my hand as he passed by. I stared down at it a moment, feeling the weighted gold disc in my hand, then glanced back up at him. He was talking with Nicolas, and suddenly both of them turned to look at me and smiled. With a comical expression, he lifted a hand and displayed a thin gold chain with a pendant on it. My hand leapt to my neck, and I was shocked to find the latest birthday present from my mother gone.

I flushed as an improper thought crossed my mind: what else were those nimble fingers capable of?

I went to him, giving them both a scolding look and tried to take the necklace, but he turned me around and fastened it himself, his hand lingering against my neck long after he had completed the mission.

"You are teaching Nicolas terrible things," I murmured.

"I have so little to teach him," he said blandly, "and there are far worse things than parlor tricks."

I gave Nicolas a sharp glance, "If you ever so much as think about stealing..."

He held his hands up in a defensive gesture, "I promise," he laughed, "the last thing I want these days is to be in jail...or married."

"Good," I said coolly, "and you will behave as well in Marseilles. Or else."

"Marseilles?" Erik asked, "When are you going to Marseilles?"

"Tomorrow," Nicolas said off handedly, "the naval architect has some changes for the _Donegal,_ and he refuses crossing the sea to come to Corsica."

Erik looked at him for a moment, then glanced at me. I knew precisely what he was thinking, and I raised my brow and gave him a sly smile. No, he was not going to get a reprieve from me. Not in that regard, anyway.

"You will be there for the wedding won't you?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Nicolas said, his tone softening, "I'm very happy for you both. This is something I always wanted."

I could tell Erik was highly uncomfortable by the comment, but I reached out and hugged Nicolas ferociously, glad that my son had inherited my openness, instead of his father's mercurial nature. Perhaps being raised solely by me had benefits, as well as disadvantages. It was something I had always worried about...Erik's ability to provide Nicolas with the sort of fatherly affection he would need.

Looking at them now, the fears may have been well founded, but I could see that things were going to work out between them. If only I could stop thinking about that last letter.

"Okay," Nicolas finally muttered, giving me a reproachful look, "I think that will suffice."

"Oh, Nicolas," I laughed, tousling his hair, "I will decide when anything will suffice. You aren't quite emancipated yet. I have a few years left."

"Clare, have you seen my watch?" my father asked, patting his front pocket in frustration, "I can't seem to find it."

"This, Papa?" I asked innocently, avoiding looking at Erik and Nicolas, "I just found it, lying around. You should be more careful with it."

I heard a snort behind me, and ignored it, handing my father his pocket watch.

"Ah, yes. I'm constantly misplacing it," he muttered, slipping it back into his pocket.

Somehow I knew that Erik had not simply found it lying on the dining room table, just as my necklace had not simply fallen from my neck. If he got Nicolas into trouble, he was going to regret it.

"Now, Erik, weren't you going to show us some tricks?"

--------------------

An hour later, after amazing my parents, and myself as well, Erik and I walked back to the house with Nicolas scampering ahead of us, announcing he had something important to do before he went to bed.

"How did you do that trick, with the flame?" I asked hesitantly.

He gave me a wry smile, "A magician never reveals his secrets."

When I frowned in response, he stopped me on the path and held his hand up near my nose, "Can you identify the odor?"

I inhaled against his hand for a moment, then wrinkled my nose, "Is that sulfur?"

"Phosphorus," he corrected, "like in a match."

"Do you just keep these things on you?" I asked, inspecting his hand for any hint of matches.

"I didn't use a match," he chuckled, "and that is the only hint you will get from me."

"Yes, well we'll be married soon, and I'll feel free to inspect your clothing for hiding spaces," I replied, feeling confident that I would discover his secrets.

He merely smiled in response, taking my hand and tugging me toward the house. He stopped outside the back door and pulled me against him, looking deeply into my eyes for several moments before he lowered his mouth to mine. In the dark shadows of the veranda, Erik kissed me with the thoroughness of a man who wanted more, and knew he would be denied again. He had waited this long, one more night wasn't going to hurt, but it didn't stop him from plundering my mouth, his warm breath sluicing across my face as he rained kisses along my jaw and throat, never quite reaching my ear but coming damned close.

He was very close to shoving me off the cliff of sanity, and I pitched my head back, allowing him what he wanted, as if I were a witless girl, and not someone who had been given some training on how to handle a man, and feed his pleasure instead of focusing solely on my own.

With shaking hands I touched him, running my hands across his chest, seeking the warmth inside his coats until I could feel the flesh through the linen shirt, and his movements stopped as I explored the spread of his ribs and along his back, then tightened my hands around his waist. I moved forward until we were as close as we had been this morning, and he groaned against me as he connected with my body.

"_Laure."_

The way Erik said my name sent shivers through my body, and when he pushed me against the exterior wall of the house and roughly shoved against me I thought I would go mad with want and desire. His cheek was pressed against mine, his breath hot against my ear as he rocked into me again, and _again._

We would have continued, I'm certain if Nadir hadn't stepped out of the house with us. I stared in horror as he peered into the darkness, trying to discern what he was looking at, then he muttered, "Allah! Forgive me!"

He stepped off the porch, lighting some sort of tobacco product and turning his back to us. Erik exhaled harshly against my shoulder, his body shaking with sudden fury, and unreleased desire. He stepped back quickly, brushing a final chaste kiss on my cheek. I stumbled away from them, wrenching the door open, embarrassed beyond even bidding them good night.

Before I closed it I heard Erik cursing him, then, "By God, tomorrow you can travel to Marseilles as well, and I suggest you go back to Paris!"

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Things are really heating up! Pertie was kind enough to mention me on her blog, and I am still smiling after reading the kind words she had for me and my story...and the fact I am mentioned on the same page as Everspring Native, my favorite fanfic author!


	36. Poor Pitiful Clare

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I went down to the dining room the next morning, and stopped when I saw that Laure's mother was sitting at the table, as if she was waiting for me. She looked up and smiled slowly as I stepped into the room and took a seat, "Good morning, Erik."

"Madame Bourne," I said stiffly, "is there something I can do for you?"

"Well," she said nervously, "it is my daughter's wedding day, and yours of course, and I wanted to see if I could seclude you while I escort her to my house. She's waiting upstairs for me to take her, and I don't want you running into one another."

"Certainly." I said warily, "Is this a custom?"

"Oh, yes," she smiled, "it is terrible luck to see a bride before the wedding, especially in her dress. You're going to have to stay inside as well when we board the ship for the ceremony. And you may not go on board until it is time, and absolutely must stay out of the captain's cabin. No peeking!"

"Of course." I replied, feeling a little irritated at the custom, but unwilling to chance tempting Fortuna to curse our wedding, "Is there anywhere in particular you would like me?"

"Why, I suppose your room, if that's alright," she said, wringing her hands together, "I...I'm so happy that my daughter is finally getting married. I had almost given up hope."

"Does having me as her groom perhaps disappoint you, Madame?" I asked with quiet animosity.

"No, of course not," she said, her eyes widening, "my daughter has always spoken fondly of you."

I shifted my eyes to the table, feeling fairly certain that she really didn't approve of me. She continued to tighten her hands around one another, rotating a slender gold wedding band across her finger in sheer nervousness. Obviously she knew a great deal about me, and was afraid that I was going to prove just as loathsome as everyone already believed.

"I won't hurt your daughter," I said simply, "or Nicolas." I gestured impatiently to my face, "This has entitled me to some anger, Madame, and given me good reason not to want to deal with people, and unfortunately attracted people to me that have proven that there are true vermin in this world."

Her eyes filled with tears at my words, spoken softly, but nonetheless to the point. I glanced away, feeling only a little guilty for berating her.

"I didn't mean...I'm so sorry, Erik," she whispered, almost reaching out to touch my hand but changing her mind, "please don't think I dislike you. That's not it at all..."

"Pardon me, Madame. I'm sorry if I've upset you," I stood up to leave the room, and heard Vincent coming through the back door. I waited like the man kneeling before the guillotine, wondering what he would say when he found his wife in tears.

"Erik!" he greeted me heartily, "Have you seen..."

The words died in his throat as he looked over to his wife, still sitting at the table, crying in earnest now. He looked back to me, and I swore I saw his eyes roll slightly.

"Vincent." I said quietly, "I apologized for upsetting her..."

"Go on," he said gruffly, "while you still can. I'll deal with her."

_"Sir?"_

The word was out before I realized it, and I clamped my mouth shut. The last person I had ever called sir was Giovanni, and I had sworn that I would never give another man that respect again. Vincent did not seem to notice, and he went to console his wife, giving me a helpless look over her head, pointing subtly towards the door. I quickly obeyed his directive, moving up the stairs in grateful silence.

As I reached the top, Laure's door opened and she called from behind the door, "Mother?"

"She's...being comforted."

I waited for her to demand to know what I had done, but she sighed, "Again? She hasn't cried this much since Nicolas was born."

"She does this often?" I asked cautiously, praying I had not just offended her mother for life.

"Yes. What is it this time? Is it the flowers again?"

"I'm afraid I said something to cause the reaction. Tell her I'm sorry when you see her," I said, meaning it.

A moment of silence, then, "How are you doing?"

"A little bewildered," I admitted, staring at the door, wondering what she had on behind it, "should we be speaking? Is this part of the bad-luck tale?"

"We're fine," she said reassuringly, "...do you have any idea if she's coming up or not? She won't let me out of my nightclothes, not even to go to her house, and I'm getting a little anxious."

Intrigued, I moved closer to the door, "Nightclothes?"

"Go away," she laughed, "you aren't allowed in here, and it wouldn't do any good anyway. I don't think my mother would survive the sort of scene Nadir witnessed last night."

Yes, _Nadir._ I scowled, wishing I had told him to go back to the village. Or Persia. Or Hell.

I heard sounds behind me, and turned to see Clare talking with Vincent at the foot of them.

"I think she should be up shortly," I muttered, "I need to go. The last thing I need is another crying scene with her this morning."

"Go then, because if she sees you, she's liable to shed tears all over you."

Her words spurned me into walking to my room as quickly as possible. I stood in the shadows of the long hallway, watching as she turned towards Laure's door, wiping tears from her eyes. I entered my room, relieved at least that she would not be coming this way. I hoped I did not have to spend another moment of my life alone in Clare Bourne's company, because I wasn't sure how to deal with a sobbing woman, especially one who didn't like or trust me.

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There are going to be several short chapters for the wedding, as I switch back and forth between POV's. Let me know if this style of writing is confusing for you. I'm thinking of eventually starting another story, and I was wondering what you thought of alternating POV's.


	37. Wedding March

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

My mother didn't say what had upset her earlier, and prying information out of her was like trying to pry an oyster shell open, so I eventually gave up. She had bundled me, still in my nightclothes in a floor length cloak and ushered me barefoot from my back door to hers, glancing worriedly around, even though no one else lived up on the ridge with us. I was sitting in my old room, waiting for her to draw me a bath so that I could begin getting ready for the day, and felt like she was certainly taking her time about it. I glanced at the clock, noting it was nine o'clock. That gave me roughly four hours to get ready for my wedding. That included the time it would take to sail from the harbor to wherever we would be going, so really, I felt as if I didn't have any time at all.

"Laure?" she called from the hallway, "Your bath is ready. Come in here and sit, relax, and make sure you wash your hair."

I smiled grimly at her mothering. I hadn't been reminded to wash my hair since I was six. "Coming," I called, wrapping the robe around me that kept me from being completely naked. I padded down the hall, my eyes widening as I took in the relaxing mood she had created inside the small room. She had lit several candles and poured a generous amount of rose petals in the water.

"Your Grandmother Bourne did this for me when I married your father," she said softly, "I was a little embarrassed, because I was marrying her son, but the Irish don't mind embarrassing one another. I don't think most of them are capable of feeling embarrassed, but I thought it was a lovely idea."

"Thank you," I whispered, giving her a hug, "it_ is_ a lovely idea."

"I'll leave you to it, then."

She closed the door behind her, and I removed the robe and perched along the tub, trailing my fingers through the water. I breathed in the roses, feeling suddenly winded in the steam filled room, knowing that in a few hours I would be married. I would be Erik's wife, and we would at last be alone. I wondered how different he would find me, now that I was no longer a mere girl.

I looked down to my smooth legs. Shaving them was a habit that I was only to happy to keep with me when I left Persia, although I did not touch anything between them. I cringed as I recalled what having those hairs plucked had felt like.

I swung my legs over the tub and sank into the gloriously scented water, submerging myself fully and allowing my hair to become saturated before I surfaced, the petals clinging to my head and body. I took my time, washing my hair dutifully, then soaking in the water until it cooled significantly. I was drying off when mother knocked on the door, announcing that I had dawdled long enough.

She sat me on the bed and began drying my hair, brushing it until it gleamed and fell in soft waves down my back, then pinning it and leaving loose several locks that she curled ruthlessly into spirals. She stared at me a moment, until she was satisfied, then gave me some sort of cream to rub on my face, telling me it would make me 'glow'. I did as she asked, knowing that she would have no other daughter to attend for a wedding, and knowing she was truly in her element. After I turned away from the mirror, I was chagrined to see tears filling her eyes again.

"I hope I haven't ruined everything," she whispered, "I think I hurt Erik somehow."

"Mother, he apologized to _you,_ so you have done nothing wrong," I said reassuringly.

"He thinks I don't like him...its not that...I just don't know him, and he seems so...cold." Her eyes flew to mine, and I could tell she was horrified that she had said something so personal, when she had tried so very hard to never speak ill of him.

"It's alright," I murmured, "he isn't cold, but he is very reserved. He has reasons, and I know he's always going to be a little distant, but I do love him, and I think that with time...who knows? He could be just as affectionate and loving as Nicolas."

"Have you told him yet?"

"No. But I will, when the time is right," I said, smiling, "now stop crying. We'll get through this day, Mother. Besides," I whispered conspiratorially, "Erik has already expressed a desire for more children. If that isn't progress, then I don't know what is."

Her eyes lit up at the prospect of more grandchildren for her to fuss over, and she proceeded to usher me into the gown she had created for my trip to and from the ship. It was very elegant, a soft blue that turned my eyes into that same color, and she laced me up with quick determined snatches.

"Now, I'm going to go over to your house, and make sure Erik is still in his room, and I'm going to leave something in your room for you to wear," she paused, "for later tonight."

"_Mother."_

She sighed, "I'll put it across your bed. I would place it in his room, but I really have no idea...," she broke off, blushing a little, "...I wouldn't want to interrupt him while he was dressing. She smiled at me, "He really is quite handsome, and I do think he is a gentleman, despite everything in his past."

"Thank you," I managed, although I should have thanked God she had given up discussing anymore of my wedding night.

She left me standing in the room, afraid to sit, afraid to walk around because I didn't want to ruin the dress she had toiled over, even though it wasn't the one I would be married in, and I would be removing it for my gown in a matter of no time.

"Mother?" Nicolas called from downstairs. I crept out of the room and stood looking out over the balcony.

"Nicolas, I'm up here."

"Grandmother wanted me to come get you. She said its time for you to board the ship, and for me to get ready as well," he said loudly, "my clothes are all on deck. I'm supposed to carry your wedding gown. Where is it?"

"Its in your grandparent's room." I said, "Is she actually trusting you to carry it?"

He snorted, "No. But Grandfather is tired of waiting, and says that she would take all day if he let her."

He climbed the stairs quickly and went into the room, holding the dress carefully across his arms with a sheet draped over the top, "You look beautiful." he smiled at me, "Ready?"

I sighed and took a deep breath, preparing for my first trip in a ship since I returned from Mazanderan, "As I will ever be."

-------------------

Papa had decorated the ship with flowers around the deck, and they ushered me inside the captain's cabin before I had a chance to peek at anything else. Mother came in later, dressed in a simple violet gown and helped me into my dress, then fixed my hair again until she was satisfied that it would hold the veil properly.

I stumbled a little as we began to move, and I turned to her wide eyed, "Erik's on board isn't he?"

She chuckled, "Yes, dear, he's been on since we shut you in here. Everything is ready. There is nothing left to do...but wait."

I think I held my breath for moments at a time, feeling the ship cutting through the water, the occasional lurch that would make me sway with the sails, the slight fear I had of leaving the distant shore. I looked out the round window of the cabin, seeing my house shrinking farther and farther away. It was ironic that to get what I wanted, I had to do the one thing that I never wanted to do.

I think my father knew exactly what he was doing when he planned for this event. I think he knew me entirely too well.

"Who is sailing the ship?" I asked suddenly.

"Erik, Nicolas, and your father. I believe Captain Le Barque and Monsieur Khan are also assisting. They also have a musician of some sort aboard."

Of some sort? Nicolas and Erik both would likely pitch a fit if they weren't masters of whatever instrument they had chosen. I prayed it wasn't a violin.

I heard them shouting orders to lower the sails, and heard the anchor chain as it dropped into the sea. The boat came to as peaceful of a stop as possible, and I heard movement in the hallway for a moment, then my father appeared at the door.

"Clare, you can take your seat." he murmured, looking at me with a radiant smile, "Are you ready, Princess?"

I smiled at the endearment, my eyes tearing suddenly. He hadn't called me that since I was taken from the shore. "Yes, Papa."

Mother kissed my cheek before she placed the veil around my face, then gave my father a kiss, leaning on him for support for a moment. Nicolas peeked in at me, giving me a wide smile, then escorted my mother from the room.

"Well, Princess, this is it. I don't need to toss him overboard while we're out here do I?" he asked teasingly.

"I don't think that would be a good idea." I laughed, leaning in to whisper in his ear, "Tell me, does he look properly terrified?"

"Oh, I would say so."

As we went top deck, and I could see Erik standing stoically beside a man in formal naval attire, and he looked distinguished in his own right in a dress suit with tails, Nicolas standing behind him in similar fashion. Nadir and my mother were seated to the side, with an empty chair for my father, and a grumpy looking cabin boy, playing a battered violin. I wasn't an expert on music, but he sounded relatively inexperienced compared to what I had heard Nicolas play. Two musicians on board, and we were being married to a rough version of Mendelssohn's Wedding March.

He had been staring at his hands, but when he caught movement his head shot up, his eyes slamming into mine with such force that I stepped closer to my father. The intensity in them was damning, and I knew he really was terrified. His mouth was tight, his jaw muscle clenching visibly, and his hands had fisted into a clasp in front of his body.

His face was pale, nearly as white as the mask adorning half of his face, nearly as white as the linen shirt peeking out from his dove gray waistcoat. My father moved me forward until it was time for him to release me to Erik, to once and for all forfeit all right to me, and he pressed a kiss through my veil before he moved away. I saw him blinking back tears as he sat near my mother, looking slightly mortified that he had turned as emotional as she was.

I turned around to face Erik at the command of the Captain, his voice fading from my mind as I looked into anguished green eyes, full of fear and a terrible longing that I couldn't identify. I reached out and took his cold hands in mine, wondering if any blood flowed beneath the skin. It felt as if I clutched bone, and I wrapped both of my hands around his, hoping to give him strength and warmth. I smiled at him through the veil, squeezing his hands until his eyes slid shut for a moment.

He looked as if he were about to faint, and I had the first doubts about the scheming my father had orchestrated. Erik didn't look nearly half as calm as he had the night we created Nicolas, and he had been pretty tightly wound that night.

When Nicolas reached out a hand and clasped his shoulder, I thought he would sag against him in relief, but he remained standing, forcing all emotion from his face, but not quite from his eyes. Suddenly I wondered if I should have told him that loved him. If it would have made a difference.

"Dearly beloved..."

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You may not hear from me for awhile. I start work tomorrow, and I'll be gone all day. I will update as frequently as possible, although it may not be everyday like I have been. It's been a great summer...but now I'm a working girl...gag me...I'd rather write fanfics all day. I'm getting up early though, so maybe I can partially finish a chapter. Erik doesn't sound happy does he? Let's see what he has to say regarding his marriage...


	38. Best of All Possible Worlds

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Once again, if you haven't read Kay, there is a reference here to the book, and if you don't understand it, let me know. It concerns Erik's new name. This is a _very_ short chapter, but I didn't want to leave you all hanging until tomorrow, so here is Erik, trembling and frightened because he's getting married...and he doesn't know what to do. The next chapter will continue in his POV, and there will be a little celebrating on board for the new couple.

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_Erik_

I had _not_ thought this through. If Nicolas hadn't been standing behind me, a hand firmly on my shoulder, I wasn't sure if I would have jumped overboard or not. If Nadir hadn't been watching me with a reassuring look on his face, I would have screamed. Looking at Laure brought me no peace. She looked exhilarated, beautiful, _wonderful_. Everything I had ever wanted in a wife. Except for the last year I had planned on marrying Christine, and it had not quite worked out as I expected. Not that I felt anything for her anymore, other than extreme annoyance at not getting something I wanted. I was avoiding her parent's eyes as well, because I saw the hope and expectation on Vincent's face, and the tears on her mother's.

_And if that boy sawed on that violin one more time, I was going to beat him to death with it. _

If this was the best of all possible worlds, what did that make me? The infinite evil? I think Leibniz could have learned much from my life, and if deeds made people, then surely I was a sore subject for study.

Captain Le Barque began speaking, reciting from memory verse from scripture and lines from every wedding around the world, marrying me to a woman supposed to already be married, using a name that I didn't care for and wouldn't have chosen for myself in a million years. Sagesse, I could tolerate. Etienne? No, I would not allow anyone to call me by that name. The name of the man who conspired to put me in an asylum, who I had hated for a very long time, believing him to have consoled my mother once her demon child had finally ran away.

"The rings, please," Captain Le Barque turned to Nicolas, taking the rings from his hand, placing one in my trembling one, and the other in Laure's steady one.

When asked if she took me to love, honor, and obey, she smiled up at me and whispered sweetly, "Yes, I do."

My breath caught at the tenderness in her eyes, and I forced my gaze back to our hands, which were clasped together with the rings poised over one another.

"Do you, Erik Etienne Sagesse, promise to take Laure as your wife, to love, honor, and obey her, in sickness and health, till death do you part?"

Her eyes met mine for a moment, and I thought I saw a little sadness in her eyes, and disappointment. Shame filled me then, because I was acting like a fool, and today was supposed to be all hers. I should have gladly agreed to walk on hot coals to make her smile.

"I do," I managed to say, feeling the weight of the words ringing true, even if I could not admit anything, even to myself.

With slow deliberate movements, she placed the ring across my finger, her hand lingering against mine for several moments. Unseen, I slipped hers on, able to smile a little when she looked down and realized I was still playing tricks on her.

"Submit to one another, out of reverence for Christ." he quoted Ephesians, "I pronounce you husband and wife. Kiss your bride."

Most people would have met with applause as they leaned in to do this, but the only sounds were the rocking of the ship on the waves, the slight groan of wet rope and wood strung together, and an occasional gull flying in the cloudless blue October sky. I raised the barrier between us, and pressed a kiss to her warm and sensual mouth, wondering if it was a sin to think lustfully when ten seconds ago you had heard scripture.

I ran my thumb across her palm, deciding that I would have to chance it.


	39. The Champion and the Master

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Erik

Her eyes were closed as I kissed her, and she curled her hand around my thumb when I slid it across her palm, unwilling to release me from her clasp. As far as kisses went, it appeared completely chaste, very unlike what we had done last night. Something Nadir could hardly be embarrassed about. And yet I felt it deeper inside than anything else that we had done together, possibly more powerful than the night we created Nicolas.

Because now, she was my wife. Because now, she was really mine. I wasn't sure if I was more astounded by the fact that I actually had legal claim someone, and they me, or if I was more shocked by the fact that she seemed so utterly willing to give herself to me.

I reached up to touch her cheek, and caught the flash of my silver ring in the light, and my eyes left hers to look at the ring in awe. Yet another reminder of how drastically my life was going to change. I cupped her chin in my hand and pressed another kiss to her lips, smiling a little wolfishly, feeling a charge of power, a surge of anticipation and energy that I had lacked since I stepped on the ship. It was as if I finally was able to breathe, now that the pious ceremony was complete, and I was certain God was no longer paying attention to me for doing something as criminal as marrying one of his innocent children.

The Captain cleared his throat, and I pulled away from her, noting her dazed expression. I had the foolish notion to pull her in my arms and embrace her fiercely, to have her body pressed against mine not in desire, but in affection. I quickly squashed it and stepped back several feet, giving her a cautious smile.

"Well, then!" Vincent stood up and moved to a large trunk on the deck, "I daresay it is time for a little celebration before we return."

He pulled out several flutes and a bottle of champagne, pouring all of us one, even Nicolas and the cabin boy. He held up his glass slightly, and I nearly groaned as he indicated his desire to give us a toast.

"May your lives together remain as endless as the sea, and your journey one of joy and marital bliss, and may your vessel never become lost in the storm. To Erik and Laure."

It figured he would find a way to include something about ships and water in his toast, but Laure had started springing tears. It occurred to me that I might be marrying someone exactly like Clare Bourne. The idea was terrifying. With that in mind I inhaled the drink, and would have taken more if it had been offered. Instead, everyone seemed content on conversing, except me and Laure. I drifted over towards the bow of the ship, leaning against the rail with my empty glass, staring at the azure water and faultless sky. She moved near me, leaning against the rail with one hip, looking at me with concern.

"I'm sorry if this isn't what you wanted," she said quietly, "we could have waited longer...or if you prefer, it isn't too late to cancel."

My head dropped to my chest, and I became ashamed for showing any weakness today.

"That...no...I don't want that." I barely whispered, "I apologize. The ceremony...," I waved my hand behind us, and glanced at the beautiful white dress, clinging tightly to every curve of her body, the skirts and train elegantly falling around her legs. I knew I didn't deserve her, or anything so pure and sweet. Not with the hatred and blood that stained my hands. Not with my demon face and angel's voice.

"My father...he meant well. Please don't let his scheming influence you. He really did this for me, and my mother, although I certainly didn't need it," she replied, stepping closer to me and reaching out to touch my shoulder, "I hope you don't think I'm going to be a difficult wife."

"All women are difficult," I muttered, trying to keep an even tone.

"Well, I'm not."

I didn't dare comment on that one. I turned to my side to study her face, from the arching dark brows, to her eyes, which suddenly seemed very blue in reflection from the sparkling water. I reached up to her hair and removed her veil, stroking the mass of curls softly, wishing I could unpin it and see it free around her shoulders. I was stopped by the sound of the bow striking the violin, and I turned my head to see Nicolas positioned over the instrument, tuning it quickly. He glanced up at me, "Well, what would you like to hear?"

"Why don't you play something of yours?"

"I'll certainly try," he smirked, and started to play.

I watched the cabin boy's face fall as he realized he had played in front of a true master, and had failed terribly. Nicolas kept his eyes closed as he played, the same way I did. It helped to block out everything but the music, and to lose yourself in sound. Every now and then his face would be turned in profile, and I was struck once again how similar we were. Half of us, anyway. He had my light brown hair, my jaw, the shape of my face, the same mouth, and Laure's eyes. It was no wonder the girls were literally beating on his door...or rather, his eye.

Laure moved closer to me, "I don't know what happened between you two, but thank you for reaching him. I never thought I would hear his music again."

I turned my head to look at her, seeing tears again in her eyes. For once I knew why she was crying. I wiped them away, and pressed a kiss to her forehead, "Music is in his soul. He couldn't deny it forever, no more than I can."

"Will you play for us?" she whispered, her eyes lighting up suddenly.

"No...I'd rather not." I said abruptly, glancing at the close confines of the ship. When I looked back at her I could see she was disappointed. Thinking of the beauty of her art, I leaned down, "If you will paint me something...something for me, and me only, I will play you a song that will make your heart weep."

Her eyes widened, "What do you want me to paint for you?"

I reached out and touched her shoulder, my thumb sweeping down across her beating heart, "Something from inside here. Something that makes everything else you've ever painted pale in comparison."

"Erik," she whispered, "I'm not that good. I..."

I placed my finger against her lips, "Listen...," my eyes flickered over to Nicolas, "he has passion in his heart. He didn't earn it only from me. Your spirit is beautiful, and the skill of your brush is unlimited. Paint me something, anything...as long as it comes from inside your heart."

"Alright," she said softly, "I will try."

I took her hand and pulled her towards me, letting her lean against my chest as Nicolas finished his song, then began another one. After listening for a moment, I realized it was the piece I had played for him in the cove, although he had altered it. It didn't sound nearly half as ominous as my version, but it was just as beautiful, if not more so. It wasn't something I would have composed, but he was superb with the notes, making them fit into something that I had never considered.

"He's magnificent, isn't he?" she said, tilting back to look at me.

"Yes," I said tightly, feeling the music flowing through my core. I wanted to pick up an instrument and join in, seeing if I could master his deceptive cadence, if my heart would allow me to select the notes before they reached my ears. Each thrumming chord wrought my soul into chaos, tangling me inside like snapped strings. By the time he had finished, I realized I was holding Laure's hand tightly across her heart, and I could feel it beating there with a madness that matched my own.

Even her parents and Nadir looked awestruck. The Captain was glowering at his cabin boy, as if he had been wasting his time listening to pure drivel, which I thought he had. Not everyone should play an instrument. Even something as battered and worn as that one deserved a proper burial instead of being forced into working at the hands of a incompetent child. He didn't even have enough relative pitch to tune his violin, and that alone was unforgivable.

Nothing irritates me more than irresponsible musicians.

"Well done, Nicolas!" Clare said, brushing away tears, "That was wonderful!"

"Yes, boy, I believe that was the finest I've ever heard you play," Vincent said cheerfully.

Nicolas turned to me, clearly seeking my approval. I went to him and embraced him, much as he had done me, "You are a champion, Nicolas. I only wish I had something left to teach you."

"Just love me, Father, as I love you," he whispered.

My sinuses immediately began to drain, and I sobbed against his shoulder, cursing him for doing this to me in front of everyone, and loving him back fiercely in the same breath, for saying it at all. The words I had never heard, not from anyone, and they came from Nicolas. My son. The joy that spread through my heart was complete and pure, and utterly terrifying.

How quickly words could bring me to my knees.

Yet, I couldn't allow him to leave today without something. As heartless as I was, I couldn't dare be cruel to my own son. And I did love him. I had the moment I first saw him standing above me on this very ship, and realized the true and real connection that I finally had with another person. He was my flesh and blood, and possessed a part of my heart that no one ever had before. Not even Christine.

"I do love you, Nicolas," I finally managed to speak, although it was a pathetic attempt.

When he pulled away from me, he only met my eyes briefly, and I knew that the time for this sort of easy affection was rapidly leaving him. Especially for me, and I was simply grateful to have caught the pane of that brief window in time, where he still hovered between man and boy, and would allow his hollow father part of a radiant and untempered love.

"Well, Laure," Clare said timidly, "we will be sailing soon, so I suggest we get you out of that gown, and into the blue one. Come along, dear."

She turned and disappeared below deck, and Laure approached me from behind, whispering in my ear, "That was beautiful. You are turning out to be a wonderful father. Nicolas is lucky to have you," she smiled and touched my hair briefly, "and so am I."

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Okay, it took me four hours to write this, cause my cat kept coming in here and making me pet her, and play with her, and allow her to bite me. Damn cat. They're just too cute. I'll try to post tomorrow sometime, later in the day, and hopefully the part you've all been waiting for...the wedding night...will be available Thursday. I've been thinking about it all day long. Seriously, my first day at work, and I was hoping no one could read my mind. Its going to be _warm._


	40. Real, Not Imagined

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

After changing I went back to the deck, surprised to see Erik at the helm with Nicolas, and Papa was guiding the anchor up from the bottom of the sea while the cabin boy hoisted the sails. Seeing my son and husband commanding the ship, both dressed in fine clothes, each looking handsome and fit in their own right was pleasing. Father and son, finally together at last, and Nicolas couldn't have been more proud than he was right now, showing Erik how to maneuver the ship around in the water. He pointed out several things, and Erik watched eagerly, although I suspected that most of it was already committed to memory from their trip in the sloop.

"Laure, we'll be leaving shortly after we arrive back on the island. I just wanted to tell you how beautiful you looked today," my father said, shrugging out of his tailored coat. My mother brought him his usual one to wear, and he slipped it on, then buttoned it, concealing his dress shirt. My wedding gown was safely tucked away out of sight, and nothing could be said about anyone else's clothes, if someone bothered to look or ask.

"Take care of Nicolas, Papa," I said brushing away imaginary lint on his lapel, "He's been good the last week, but you know how he can be, especially when he's away from home."

"He's a good boy," he said frankly, "and I don't think he'll give me any trouble. He will be busy trying to impress the naval architect, although I have no idea why. He could probably give him a couple of ideas that would improve the _Donegal_, even more than the new specifications that are called for."

"Keep him in line," I said firmly.

He smiled and nodded at me, then called Nicolas over. He ambled along for a moment, speaking over his shoulder to Erik, then finally stood before us.

"Nicolas, your mother wants assurance that you'll be well behaved while we are gone. I have spoken on your behalf, and confirmed that there will be no problems. Tell me I have assumed correctly."

"Yes, sir," he said, giving me his half cocked smile, which was trouble all on its own. There wasn't a girl in Adjaccio, and probably Marseilles that would be able to resist that smile.

I hugged him and left them to their plans, and went to Erik's side at the helm. He looked down at me with a smile unlike anything I had seen on his face so far. Open, engaging, carefree. I saw a moment of confusion cross his features as he attempted to remove it from his face, but it was impossible. Like my defiant smile to the khanum, the one that had led to my beating, his could not be denied. I realized it had much to do with Nicolas's words from earlier.

"Planning on becoming a sailor?"

"I must admit it has appeal," he said, "I never liked traveling by ship before. I was at the mercy of men who could decide that they no longer wanted me aboard, and had no desire to swim to shore. But now," he turned the wheel slightly, "I suppose I could make an exception, since this is mine."

"You probably would have been better suited for something smaller. It takes too many people to run this ship."

He raised his hands in a serene manner, "But this was his first. That makes it special. And one day," he shrugged, "it will be returned to him anyway."

"What was your first?" I asked, stepping up beside him.

He gave me a startled look, "First...? Do you mean commission?"

I realized what he had thought I meant, but I ignored it, "Yes, your first architectural commission."

"The palace for the shah. I had no great attachment to it. By the time I finished it, he had changed my original design so many times, and made it into a over sized child's toy. It was nothing more than an amusement for him, and I was disgusted with it, even if it was clever."

"He made his home a torture room?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

"_No_," he said emphatically, "_I_ made it so that he could spy on everyone, and slip into and out of rooms unseen."

I didn't say anything, but it sounded a lot like the opera house.

"Did you design Opera Populaire?"

"Redesigned would be a more accurate term," he said wryly, "although you will not find a blueprint for what I created inside those walls."

I touched his shoulder for a moment, and he followed the movement with his eyes, although he didn't respond in any way. I wondered if he thought about what would happen once we were alone. It was certainly not far from my mind, and hadn't been for quite some time.

I looked across the length of the ship, and could make out the shore of Corsica, greeting us with hazy charm. We watched as we approached it, me feeling anticipation, Erik...possibly feeling terrified again. Nicolas came back up with us and helped him guide the ship next to the dock, and assisted his grandfather in putting the ship back in maintenance conditions.

My father escorted my mother home after she had begun tearing up again as she said goodbye to Nicolas. We stood, looking at our son who was going to be gone for an entire week, possibly more, and I felt guilty for reveling in his absence. I knew my father would keep him in line, but I also worried about him.

"Where is the ship you are leaving on?" I asked, reaching out to touch his hair, his face, giving him a motherly kiss.

He pointed to a large steamer on the other side of the port, "Nina was supposed to pack my clothes, and Oman was going to put them on board for me."

Ah...so my father had worked everything out, had he? We would be returning home alone, and there was nothing that could stop us from doing what we had been waiting for...or rather, what I had been waiting for.

Even Nadir was leaving, boarding the ship with them and returning to the mainland. I had a suspicion that Erik had orchestrated that move, and he had already bid us all farewell and walked off towards the direction of the ship Nicolas had pointed towards.

"Show respect to that architect," I said gently, "your arrogance is not endearing. You are still young enough to learn something from older gentlemen."

I saw Erik's face tighten at my directive, but he said nothing.

My father was coming down the hill towards us, so I leaned over and hugged Nicolas, "I love you, son," I whispered against his cheek, giving him another kiss, "be careful."

Erik appeared uncertain how to send him off, and they merely shook hands, not speaking to one another, only giving a slight nod. He greeted my father in the same fashion, and after I hugged him as well, they both turned and left us standing on the docks.

We stood watching for what seemed like forever. Long after we lost sight of them we stared, until I finally turned and looked at Erik, seeing his mouth pulled into a severely grim smile.

"Well, I believe I'm going to return home," I said faintly, and waited patiently while he reluctantly offered me his arm.

We walked to the house in strained silence, and he immediately left me to go into the library. I glanced at the clock, seeing it was barely four thirty, and knew that he had no intentions of going directly upstairs.

I sighed and went into the kitchen, encouraging Nina to prepare small meal. I decided I would give him his space, and hung around the kitchen watching her cook and likely making her bloody nervous. She glanced over at me occasionally, seeing me staring, but she said nothing.

"You can't tell anyone about the wedding today." I blurted out, "No one can know about it."

"Of course, Madame."

"If you continue to provide adequate service, and your discretion is steadfast, then we can discuss raising your salary," I said softly, "you are already paid well, but privacy is extremely important in this house. You understand?"

"Yes, Madame Sagesse," she said timidly.

"Monsieur Sagesse, he is a private person, but he is generous, and he is kind. I hope you will remember that."

She nodded her head, "Of course. I will remember."

"After dinner, I will need your assistance upstairs. This gown needs to be tended to immediately after I remove it."

"I will see to it. Dinner is almost ready, Madame. Perhaps you and your...husband would like to be seated?"

I left her there to find Erik, who was sitting in the library in the corner, no doubt where he had hidden when he spied on the conversation I had with Nicolas. He kept his head lowered to his chest, but I saw that his eyes were open.

"Would you like to come eat something? Nina has prepared dinner for us."

He grunted slightly, but stood up, grudgingly offering his arm again. I couldn't resist pressing a kiss to his mouth, hoping it would dispel any doubts he had about my intentions tonight. His eyes remained closed long after I had moved away from him, and he blinked for a moment, as if he had been waiting for something more.

With a smile, I tugged him to the dining room. He had done this to himself, and now he would have to wait.

----------------------

It was dark by the time we finished dinner, mostly because neither one of us really ate anything, and several moments of intense staring had stolen away my ability to swallow anything. We finally stood and moved out of the dining room, standing at the foot of the stairs in mutual hesitation. I was suddenly unsure if I was going to have the nerve to ask him to come to me, since he seemed reluctant to come forward and play the strong role, the role of the man who took what he wanted. My fears turned into reality as he edged backwards again, moving towards the library.

"Erik-" I said suddenly, and he raised his eyes to me slowly, "I...I'm going upstairs. Will you...come to my room in a few minutes?"

I looked at his chest as I spoke, feeling like my throat was going to snap closed from the force of emotions struggling to emerge. I saw him nodding, although I didn't necessarily look at him, and I turned and darted up the stairs, feeling able to breathe the farther I was away from him.

Nina was waiting dutifully in my room, and helped me out of the gown and unlaced my corset from behind. She took the dress with her as she left, presumably to press it before it was tucked into storage, probably never to be seen again.

I looked on the bed, and sure enough, my mother had left me a satin nightdress, in a deep crimson color, along with a matching robe. I hesitated for a moment, then stripped my clothes off. When I heard a creak on the stairs, I slipped the robe on, tossing the nightdress into a chair. I sat quickly at my vanity, removing pins from my hair and began brushing the curls out, breathing more harshly with each second that passed that my door did not swing open. I knew he was standing outside of it. I could see his shadow against the wall as he debated pushing the door open or not.

"Erik?"

A tense moment of silence before he said softly, "Yes?"

"You can come in. I'm...," I broke off, wondering what I would have said. _Ready? _Yes, I certainly was. _Decent?_ He probably wouldn't think so, not in this garment, although it covered much more than the last time we had been together like this.

I turned back to my vanity, and watched in the mirror as his hand touched the door, and then his body filled the doorway. I couldn't see his face because of the angle of the mirror, so I sat brushing my hair until I felt him finally standing behind me.

"Come away from there," he said curtly.

I turned around to look at him, seeing his gaze was on the mirror. I reached out and tilted it down, my heart breaking because I knew why he didn't want to look. I took his hand and pulled him to my side, and he straddled the bench beside me, gazing warily at the mirror.

He took the brush from my hands and turned me away from him, setting the brush against the vanity. I leaned into him, although he only willingly touched my hair. His fingers brushed against my neck for a moment as he pushed it to one side, and I waited for him to lean down and kiss me there. I waited, and he never did.

I turned to look at him, and his eyes were closed, his mouth parted open, and I felt his breath against my face. I reached up into his hair, then slid my hand down to his neck, putting pressure there until he finally opened his eyes to look at me.

"Laure..."

"Kiss me, Erik." I demanded, "It all begins with a kiss...this time."

I spun my legs to the side, so that I could face him, and waited for him to make the first move. His eyes flickered down to my mouth a moment, and he leaned in slowly, moving past my mouth to kiss my cheek. I forgave him when he continued, moving back to my jawline, and I turned my head against his mouth, silently begging that he kiss my ear. As he did so I went limp against him, becoming no better than an idiotic puppy begging for attention. His hands moved from their position on his legs to touch my shoulders, gripping them gently as he nuzzled against me with warm wet kisses to my ear and neck. I felt his fingers in my hair for a moment, and I shifted slightly, placing one knee across the bench, and draping one leg across his. He exhaled sharply when he looked down and saw that my robe had slipped open around my leg, and he could see quite a bit of it.

I placed my hand over his and moved it, putting it high on my leg. He squeezed suddenly, his eyes closing as he drew in a shuddering breath.

"This is real." he groaned before he opened his eyes again, "Real, and not imagined."

I reached out and unbuttoned his shirt, grateful he had removed the rest of his outer layers. I pulled the tails from his trousers, and helped him out the rest of the way.

With a smile I untied my robe and let it slide off my shoulders.

"Yes, this is real. And you'd best not forget a moment of it."


	41. An Earthquake in Adjaccio

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Sorry to leave you hanging...but I'd really rather it be in Erik's POV. We _all_ know what Laure's thinking. Mature content, rated for sex with a capital S.

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_Erik_

So she _hadn't_ been wearing anything beneath it. I had wondered the moment I saw her in it, sitting and brushing her hair, looking like a vision in red, like a goddess that was granting me permission to see her. She was...fuller than I remembered, and I could see the delicate white markings across her stomach where she had grown with child.

My child.

"Nicolas," I whispered, and touched her scars hesitantly.

I could close my eyes and see her, young, uncertain, and with the knowledge that she was going to have a child to raise on her own. I glanced up at her, seeing her eyes were growing teary, and I leaned in to kiss her mouth, hoping to dissolve any memories that my touch had brought her.

Words were lost in the silence of our kiss, in the cautious joining of our bodies together. Once she brushed against my chest, and I could feel her breasts against me, another groan rolled off my tongue. I moved my hand from her stomach to her back, sweeping across the silken flesh. At my touch, she leaned in completely, until no part of our torsos did not touch. She wrapped her arms around my neck, threading her fingers through my hair, taking my mouth again when I tried to break away.

Laure would not release me, and God help me I couldn't stop.

She made feel alive, electrified, and I touched her with unabashed delight, feeling powerful and controlling, and at the same time terrified I was going to be scolded for taking too many liberties with her body. Her hands drifted down to my chest, rubbing against me in a way that was going to incite desire in an explicit manner.

Especially when they traveled low on my stomach, and her finger traced the edge of my trousers, touching skin and cloth, delving inside merely half an inch before moving back up to my chest in a disappointing fashion.

"Laure...," I whispered gruffly, capturing her hand against my chest. I placed my other hand against her neck, stroking the soft skin, tilting her head backwards so that she was looking directly at me. Her eyes were open, her face flushed with desire, and I knew then that I had lost myself to her. In more ways than one.

Her voice was trembling when she finally said, "I want you to make love to me." she closed her eyes, shielding a torment that I couldn't identify, "Please. I can't take anymore of this."

Her hand moved away from my heart, and she placed mine over her breast, a sharp exhale of air following it. I slid my arm around her waist and pulled her closer, closer, until there was no room between us for anything else. She threw her leg across the side of the bench, straddling it like me, and I held her tightly across my thighs, drawing her up higher until I could taste her skin, until my lips closed over the peak of her breast, and she again went completely boneless against me. We rocked together for a moment, until the pressure was not enough for us. Until we both wanted more. She slid off my lap and stood up, holding her robe around her waist as she turned and gave me a come hither look over her shoulder.

I obeyed immediately, standing behind her and kissing her neck, exploring her breasts with ardor and exhilarated wonder. She arched against me, her head falling onto my shoulder as she looked at me in a glazed and aroused fashion. The robe fell to the floor between us, and she pressed her backside against me. I felt as if I was going to simply burst with need.

"You're trying to kill me, aren't you," I growled against her neck, leaning down to bite her softly. I don't exactly know why I bit her, but it seemed completely natural, and the way she responded inspired me to do it again.

She turned in my arms, and I felt her tugging at the buttons to my trousers, but I swept her hand away, wondering how far I could drive her insane before she ever had a chance to touch me. She tried to do it again, and I captured her hands behind her back, kissing her shoulders and neck, her ear, which I was quickly finding out she loved, and her mouth, which_ I_ loved. She struggled to free herself, and only succeeded in moving closer to me, and I heard her begging for me to let her go. Ironically this time I felt no guilt in not doing so.

"If you don't let me go, death is the least of your problems."

"Will you allow me to...continue...without rushing things?" I muttered against her neck, tracing a lazy circle on her skin.

"Just let me touch you," she pleaded, "I'll do anything you ask. I can't _not _touch you, Erik. It is torture."

I let her hands go, allowing her the freedom to roam across my back beneath my shirt, loving the feel of her arms around me, holding me closer to her, her mouth instantly seeking mine again.

Dimly I realized she was pulling me towards the bed, and I let her, my hands skimming over her body the entire time, enjoying the shocking sounds of delight that came from her mouth.

Yes, it was thankful that Nicolas wasn't here. It would probably scar him for life if he had heard his mother making the noises she was right now.

She sat on the bed, and I would have sat with her, beside her, except she scooted towards the center, giving me a seductive smile. She knew I would have rather continued near the edge, away from the pressure of that canopy that would be bearing against my back. I was excited, yes, but I was also as nervous as Hell.

"Come here, Erik."

My eyes slid closed at her summons, and the way she said my name. It caused a tide of desire and longing to surge through me, and I felt my hands begin to tremble anew as I placed a knee on the bed. I kicked my boots off behind me, and reached out to touch her ankle, keeping my eyes away from what I could see farther up her body.

Her foot jerked slightly as I slid my hand down and touched the sole, and she leaned up on her elbows to look at me through half closed eyes. I finally took in the sight of her. Each inch, and my blood heated by several thousand degrees, my body becoming more taut with each breath I struggled to take, and I felt my limbs weaken as I traced my hand up her leg, past her knee, then enter the heat between her thighs.

Her legs parted as I leaned over her, her eyes closing in anticipation as I touched her. Yes, very different from the young girl whose innocence I had stolen. I remembered being very angry, thinking they had sent me a young woman who had not even blossomed yet, who had not even had the first blush of maturity. My outraged had angered her as well.

Now she was a woman, with the heat and seductive fragrance of a woman well past the point of return. She was whimpering beneath, begging me to bring her to release, to end her ache, give her ease. I caressed her delicately, until her hand found mine and urged me faster, until I couldn't help but kiss her until I was as breathless as she was. She was driving me insane, and had not even touched me. I realized that it was my own fault.

It was maddening that she kept her eyes on me the entire time, alternating between my face and the mask, occasionally reaching up to touch me, even to touch the mask. Her fingers trailed across my jaw to my lips, and I kissed her palm as I stroked her, glorified to watch as she burst aflame beneath me, watching as her eyes rolled back, and she arched off the bed in ecstasy. Her cries rent my soul with a fierce craving that I did not want to deny, yet I was unsure after her overwhelming response to my touch, if she would be able to receive me.

I buried my face against her shoulder, still keeping my hand against her, still making her arch off the bed long after I knew she had arrived at the peak of desire. I wondered if she had done this the last time we made love, or if she had been too uncomfortable.

"Erik?" she whispered, moving her hand from mine to touch my back.

"Yes, Laure?"

"You haven't...," she broke off, "not yet, you haven't..."

"I know," I said wryly, moving my hand away from her, to travel up her body. She sighed against me as I touched her, and I moved my mouth back down to her breasts, enticing the hardened nipple with my lips and teeth, tasting her again and again with my tongue.

"I want you...," she gasped when I bit down a little harder than I intended, "please, Erik."

Her pleas could be denied no longer, especially when her hand finally found its way to my trousers again, unbuttoning them with a swiftness that I couldn't help but admire. She turned to her side, lounging against the bed with one elbow as she closed her hand around me.

I groaned as she moved her hand down the smooth length, rolling onto my back as I let her touch me. She leaned across me, her breasts dangling in my face like dancing orbs, teasing me until I raised my head enough to nurture them again. She moved her hand again, and I forgot my task and fell back against the bed. With my thumbs around the waistband, I quickly removed my trousers and lay there feeling exposed beneath her as she touched me again.

When I could take no more, I pressed her back onto the bed, sliding between her legs and kissing her again, and still not having the nerve to enter her, no matter how much I wanted to be there. I touched her again, feeling her entirely willing beneath me, and I would have continued but she caught my hand, shaking her head.

"Not again. I want _you_. Don't you know that I'm yours?" she smiled at me, "You own me, heart and soul, and I am here for your pleasure."

"Laure..."

Her hips arched from the bed, and I was no longer able to decide what I would and wouldn't do. She had sheathed me completely, her eyes closing tight for a moment before opening to stare at me blindly. I groaned, my body shaking as I struggled not to move.

"I don't want to hurt you," I whispered, kissing her face gently, "Laure, please..."

"You won't hurt me," she said thickly, "but you're going to drive me mad if you don't do _something,_ Erik."

I finally settled her back against the bed, and thrust into her again, feeling the edge nearer each time she moaned against my ear, each time I drove inside her, and each time I felt our bodies connecting with such force that I was unsure if I was hurting her or not, and beyond the point of stopping. She kept pace with me, arching against me, barely allowing me to breath as she kissed me, our tongues striking with as much ardor as our bodies, our hearts racing with the speed of the blinding light. Her legs had wrapped around me, and I was certain her feet were locked behind me, and the thought brought another flash of fire through me as I imagined what we looked like joined together.

Suddenly, a mirror seemed appealing.

With a few more strokes, she was clutching me with fervor, her skin glistening as she screamed over the edge, and in that moment of supreme insanity I pitched headlong after her, burying myself as deep as I could, feeling the jolt of unworldly pleasure rip through me and I pressed tighter against her as the rolling earthquake rendered me useless.

---------------------------------

Here it is...almost three whole pages of what I hope isn't too over the top sex. Oh yeah, forget you read this if you're too young to be reading it. I do try to avoid ugly words, and modern descriptions for certain...anatomy...but I hope this is still hot enough for you, not that that is why I wrote this story...not that it isn't...


	42. The Little Schemer

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

When he rolled away from me I panicked, certain he was going to abandon me, and I reached out and grasped his wrist. He looked at me in surprise as he sat back against the pillows on the bed, sliding a sheet across his lap.

"Don't leave."

I scrambled up beside him, taking part of his sheet to cover myself. He was still breathing hard from the exertion of our lovemaking, and I was trembling from the uncertainty that he might not want to stay with me through the night.

"You said this would be a real marriage." I said desperately, "Does that extend to staying with me during the night? Because I don't want you to leave."

I could tell by the look on his face he was shocked by my suddenly clingy attitude. I wondered if he found me annoying, a bothersome woman who was beginning to irritate him. I released his wrist and turned away from him, waiting for him to respond. To leave. To do something.

"Laure...I remove the mask at night...," he said quietly, "I'm really not comfortable..."

My head dropped to my chest as I realized what he intended, what he could not bring himself to say. I wanted to tell him that his scars didn't matter...that they had never mattered, but the last thing I wanted to do was incense him, especially on our wedding night. I wanted to beg him not to leave, to tell him that I never wanted to be away from him again. I wanted to tell him that I loved him, but I was too worried about what he would say, what he would think.

Instead I forced a shaky sigh, avoiding his eyes as I turned towards him, draping my arm across his stomach. He tensed beneath my arm, and I remembered how he had sprung from bed last time the moment our lovemaking had ceased. I ignored his insecurities and rested my head against his shoulder, feigning a deep, even breathing. He held me for a very long time, relaxing once he assumed I had fallen asleep. His hand stroked my back absently, his other hand in my hair. I lay against him, willing myself to drift off in his arms, but I prepared myself for the moment he would leave. It came all too soon, just when I had finally surrendered to restless dreams.

He gently laid me down on my stomach and sat beside me for a moment, still touching me.

"My_ wife,_" he said softly. "Unthinkable. Impossible."

I remained silent, hoping he would divulge more. That he would reveal some secret thought, give me a reason to come alive once more and tell him _my _secret. He said nothing, and after a moment he began searching for his pants. I watched through one eye, hiding a smile as he stumbled around the room naked. I smiled, even though it hurt that he was leaving me.

It hurt, but I didn't cry until long after he had left the room, and I had gotten up to shut and lock my door. I curled into my bed, alone, sobbing silently into my pillow, wishing I had demanded more from him, or that I had went to his room instead of mine. Perhaps he wouldn't have found it so easy to send me away a second time, or at least harder than leaving.

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The next morning I woke up to the sound of my doorknob turning. When he realized I had locked it I thought he must have given up, but after a moment the door opened, and he slid something into his pocket as he glanced up at me on the bed. I stared at him as he came toward me, and with a smile I sat up and let the sheet fall to my waist.

His mouth fell open, and I wondered if it shocked him that I had lain in bed the entire night naked. It was his own fault he hadn't been here to enjoy it. Nudity was not something that particularly shamed me anymore. I had seen enough in the harem to almost become immune to it. Almost. Especially when his eyes darkened merely looking at me.

I extended a hand to him, "Come lay beside me."

He stripped off his shirt as he came toward me, silently climbing onto the bed with me. I lay down with my back to him, letting our skin touch, his slightly cool, and mine warm from the bed. He smelled clean, as if he had just bathed, and I reached back to touch his hair, finding it still damp.

"You smell wonderful," I whispered, turning my face toward his for a kiss.

His arm slid around my waist, pulling me closer against him as he kissed me.

"You look beautiful," he returned, brushing my hair away from my face, "I'm sorry about leaving...I've never spent the night with anyone before."

"Neither have I."

I turned away from him as bitter tears threatened to fall again. He sighed as he tried to peek over my shoulder, but I kept my face away from his, not wanting him to see my eyes again, which were probably already red and raw.

"I've never been with any other woman," he said quietly.

"Not even Christine?" I managed, feeling a surge of jealousy, "You never spent the night with her?"

"_No_, and no." he said flatly, then, "Not in the same bed. She did spend some time in my house."

I remained mute, angry, even though I had brought the subject up. I hated her for being in his life for longer than I had. I hated her beautiful face, her sweet voice, and her damned innocent life. I even hated Raoul de Chagny, for being just like her.

For years I had been jealous, imagining that she was the one who kept us away from him. It was her fault that Erik had not come to Corsica. It was because of her that I had denied him rights to his son for the last five years, because of his insane obsession with her. I hated her for ever possessing his heart, and possibly still being there.

"Are you going to get dressed?" he asked, kissing my shoulder softly.

I made a sound of annoyance, which he took for pleasure and continued kissing me. Soon though, the sounds coming from me _were_ of pleasure, and my anger and jealousy were forgotten as we exchanged sighs and groans instead of conversation. Christine was forgotten as he coaxed me around to face him, and I finally gave in to the urge to touch him, finding his skin softer in the morning light, especially after he had just bathed. I surrendered to him entirely, allowing him to bring me to the peak of ecstasy once again, and I brought him to it as well.

We spent the morning curled together in bed, and I contented myself with this side of him, telling myself I could accept him leaving at night, if he came in and did this every morning. I told myself I could make him want to stay with me, using charm and appealing to his needs. I would become so desirable that he would never want to leave, and by the time he thought about it, he would have already spent the better part of the night in my bed. I looked forward to awakening beside him, during the night, in the morning, whenever I desired to feel his body against mine. Whenever I desired to stir his blood with a mere kiss or touch.

Soon, he would see the benefit of staying with me.

"Erik?" I whispered, looking at him on the opposite pillow.

We had been gazing into each other's eyes while my mind raced and I plotted on the best way to keep him with me at night. I had finally realized the way into his heart, and him into my bed.

"Yes?"

"Would you like to learn everything they taught me in the harem?"

His head raised off the pillow as he leaned forward, "What sort of things?"

"Oh...just various techniques, some points of pleasure...a few other things...," I trailed off, keeping my eyes away from him as I spoke.

"Like what?" he asked suspiciously.

"How to kiss...where to kiss...where to touch."

"Tell me," he demanded, and I realized I had indeed found something.

Erik didn't like to be ignorant about anything. Apparently this was no exception.

"Oh, no," I said sagely, "it is best if I show you. But we will have to save it for another time. I'm simply too tired to try anything new."

My tone may have been sweet, a little too sweet, and when I leapt off the bed and dressed quickly, I found he was watching me with narrowed eyes. I realized something else.

Erik didn't like to be denied anything. For someone who never had much, he had certainly spoiled himself.

I lured him from the bed with the promise of breakfast, and of a lesson later. Then again, I could always claim that I was simply _too tired._

Yes, he would soon be begging me to let him stay.


	43. The Teacher and the Pupil

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I was certain I had offended her. After breakfast she had disappeared into her studio, presumably to paint, and left me with absolutely nothing to do. I realized that this was now _our_ house, although I was reluctant to go about prying into things that were hers. I had already done so with her studio, and I had not liked what I found. I explored downstairs, finding mostly a parlor and some rooms that looked as if they had never been used despite their exquisite furniture, a room for Oman, who had eyed me suspiciously when he caught me walking near his door, and a room for Nina, which I had closed immediately after I opened it.

Upstairs I already knew contained numerous bedrooms, and a few that were not even used. Her studio, which I tried to keep out of, and a room that contained a treasure full of information on my son. I opened a trunk full of old toys, mostly of ships and sailors, and there were also small models of ships that he had completed then abandoned on several shelves lining the walls.

In the corner I found some paintings that Laure had done, as well as several sketches of him when he was younger. My throat tightened as I looked at his youthful face, perhaps around three, and some more when he was a little older. There were several paintings that I was almost certain he had done, because they lacked a theme, were hopelessly sloppy, and tended to be red in color.

Thinking of the cutter, and of the story of his mother's stairs and front door, I wondered if it was his favorite. I stood near the smooth cherry wood cradle and stared down into the empty space where Nicolas had slept as an infant. Judging by the age of it, Laure had possibly slept in it as well. A blanket lay casually across the side, and I picked it up, sending a swirl of dust around the room as I did so.

"He slept with that until he was ten."

I turned my head to see her leaning against the door, her eyes suspiciously bright as she looked around the room.

"Everything in here is his?" I questioned, laying the blanket back on the cradle.

"Yes. He made me put those sketches and paintings up about a year ago. He said they were too embarrassing for them to be displayed," she laughed slightly, "I don't _think_ it was the skill of my brush that concerned him."

"Of course it wasn't." I picked one of my favorite sketches, of him gazing out over the water, "May I keep this?"

"Sure," she said, moving to look at it, "anything in this house is yours now. Within limits."

"What are my limits?" I murmured, leaning down to kiss her.

"You...you can't go back into the studio. Not unless I invite you. And Nicolas deserves privacy as well. If you want to know something about us...ask."

I grumbled slightly, but promised to try. I hadn't lived with anyone for so long, it was impossible to comprehend giving them privacy. The only person I had not disrespected by invading their space had been Giovanni.

"I know you think we're a bit odd," she whispered, and I bit back my reply, "but we are your family now. We want you to feel welcome here, because this is your home now."

Looking into her hazel eyes, I didn't dare tell her that I missed Paris and the Opera Populaire. At times I craved my solitude, which I had indulged in for so long.

"Do you think you could keep the maid out of my room?" I asked, looking away. "I can clean it myself."

She sighed and rested her head against my chest, giving me a view of the top of her head.

"Of course."

I released her and turned back to discover new things in the room, finding more paintings, some of him and her together when he was very small, some of him with Vincent and Clare. I didn't hear her leave the room, but when I turned back she was gone.

------------------------

Do women ever really say what they mean? Or mean what they say? Judging by the slightly snappish attitude she had suddenly developed during dinner, I wondered if I even knew this woman at all. One moment she was gazing at me with tender soft eyes, daring me to kiss her, wanting to claim her beguiling smile, then the next I would say something and she would turn cold.

When I merely suggested that I take down a couple of walls to enlarge my room to include a library and a small sitting area, she had glared at me! I had asked if she liked opera music, and had received a death stare.

Her range of moods was infinite, and I found myself more often than not on one that appeared to be irritation. However, each time I leaned over and gave her attention, or some affection, she willingly allowed me to kiss her or touch her. I had no idea what to make of her.

Those doomed to hang will not drown, and I was near the platform, about to slip the noose around my own neck by bedtime. I stood near the foot of the stairs, uncertain which mercurial temperature she had settled into, but she smiled at me and drew me up the stairs. I followed in wordless wonder, eager to begin whatever it was she wanted to teach me.

She slipped out of her dress and hung it in the closet, standing near me as she tugged her chemise and bloomers off, then reaching for my shirt. I held my breath, fearing her mystical touch, as if she were the world's most skillful lover, and I a willing student. It never occurred to me that she was as inexperienced as I was. I merely let her do as she wanted, and she murmured against my ear as she pressed kisses to unexpected places.

_Behind my knee. Low on my spine. Across my ribs._

Over and over the kisses and caresses continued, until I was uncertain if I wanted to learn, or wanted to put the fire out.

_My ear, and I now could see why she loved it, my palm, which I already enjoyed, and amazingly enough, my navel._

When her tongue dipped inside it, sweeping across my stomach, then tantalizingly lower, I made her stop. It was too much to bear. Too much to think about at once, and I, the person who should not have been shocked by something so...strange...not that I hadn't heard of it, but it was far too intimate to share with her...I had to stop her, or she would have driven me insane.

Her grin of triumph proved that she was a willing participant in my torture, and I proceeded to use her methods against her, immediately finding the strength and confidence I needed when she pleaded with me to continue, and begged me to stop, to finish, to give her what she needed. Ruthlessly I plagued her, kissing her in every single space she had kissed me, and in many that she had not. In my bold new security, I even did to her what I would not allow, and brought her to swift and sudden pleasure with my lips and tongue.

As her trembling limbs sank back to the bed, I brought her back to a desirous state before I slated my own needs, effectively carrying her with me across the threshold once more.

I have mastered many arts in my life. This was to be a new and exciting one. The most so far, and I intended to pursue and persuade her with as much aggression as I had anything else. She would teach me, and I would experiment the lessons on her, driving her farther and farther away from whatever little bit of modesty she had left, and would feel no guilt at my indecency. She was my wife, my lover, and my teacher, and I abandoned every bit of doubt when I slid between those sheets.

I could not however, bring myself to slumber at her side. There was a lack of trust I possessed while I slept. I feared her removing the mask, or watching me sleep, looking at my face in the morning light with revulsion and hate. Seeing what her lover looked like, and realizing there were better men in the world. Better looking, comfortable around people. A man who would wake up next to her in the morning and look on her with love and confidence.

A man who wasn't me, and never would be.


	44. The Sea and the Prayer

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

I woke up to his bare chest sliding across mine, and I stretched in delight against him as he nuzzled my neck. I had fallen asleep in his arms last night, and now I woke up in them. It was sounds of pleasure and satisfaction that I made as he kissed me, and I looked into his green eyes and found them filled with passion and fire. He was no longer uncertain in his movements against me, and had surpassed what I could teach him...for the moment.

Then...he abruptly stopped kissing me and was pulling me from the bed.

"Erik, what are you doing?"

"_We_, are going for a walk," he said calmly, "and you are going to see a sunrise, which you have claimed not to have seen in quite some time."

I glanced out the window then and saw it was still dark outside. I had not realized it was still in the pre-dawn hours. He hadn't left me _that_ long ago. I looked back at him suspiciously, but he was gazing at me with patience and silence.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather come back to bed?" I whispered, trailing my hands over his torso.

He smiled wryly and grabbed my palm, giving me a kiss there that was certainly sending mixed signals, especially when he said, "You have ten minutes, then I'll be back to dress you myself. Or you can just come as you are," he smiled lazily and gave me another kiss that told me perhaps he really did want to stay.

It didn't matter now. I was awake, and unless someone put the lights out for me, I couldn't go back to sleep if I tried.

I dressed quickly and pinned my hair up, and was waiting for him dutifully when he returned, himself now fully dressed. He took my arm and grabbed our cloaks from the hallway and a blanket as we left the house.

It was certainly chilly enough. I knew that winter was fast approaching the island, but for now the air was crisp, and I inhaled the smell of wet grass and sea spray. He didn't take me to the cove as I suspected, because the sun wouldn't rise over it anyway, it would be setting. Instead he tugged me through the middle of town, then across the peninsula to a hill that looked out over the eastern horizon.

"How did you know about this place?"

"Sometimes I walk in the mornings. Before anyone else is milling around town. Have you been here before?" he asked softly, arranging the blanket on a rock. He guided me down next to him, and we sat looking out over the faint light that would soon be coming over the sea.

"Not since I was a girl. Mother kept a pretty close eye on me, when she used to have friends in the village," I replied, scooting closer to his body for warmth.

"You're lucky," he said, "I've done less than being abducted and coming home like you did, and not been forgiven. My mother...," he broke off and looked at me, then gave me a wan smile, "...she wasn't a happy person."

I reached out and touched his cheek, then his hair, and his eyes closed for a moment, hiding the ghosts of his past.

"Not all families are like that, Erik. You do know that, don't you?" I asked softly. "Some families...they have it all. Love, affection, loyalty. There is no one here that is going to judge you for wanting something."

"You didn't want me to expand my room," he said accusingly.

I lowered my eyes, immediately ashamed of how I had reacted last night.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I...I don't want you to seclude yourself from us. I thought if you built something like that, you might never come out of your room," I raised my eyes to his, trying to keep from crying, "of _course _you can do what you like. Don't pay any attention to me. I'm just as bad as my mother sometimes, except I don't cry. I get defensive."

"I would rather you cry...than that...than how you were last night," he muttered.

I sighed, not in the least offended. That sounded like a response my father had made once. Nicolas as well would prefer to me crying than being waspish. I would rather not do anything at all, but can't seem to help myself.

"Just ignore me next time," I said, giving him a small smile.

"I can't ignore you," he said defensively, "then you would certainly have cause for concern."

I rested my head against his shoulder, uncertain how to explain that you can ignore a persons moods and comments, without actually excluding them from a conversation. I was an expert. I did it to my mother all the time when she was crying, although I used sarcasm as a tool against her.

"What does Nicolas do when he is upset?" he asked suddenly.

"He gets very quiet, then he might suddenly start shouting, or he might just leave. It depends on what he is upset about. When he found out you were coming...it was the angriest I had ever seen him," I said slowly, "but it has been several years since I've seen him cry."

He didn't say anything, and I was wondering if he thought about the times I had seen him cry. He didn't like to be touched, or spoken to, or even looked at while he cried. Comfort of any sort seemed to be foreign to him, and judging by what he had told me of his past, I knew that he hadn't ever had anyone in his life who had completely given their heart to protect and love him.

He was...or had been a very lonely man. I hoped I could change that, one kiss at a time.

In silence we watched as the sun came up over the sea, spreading light through the sky with a myriad of colors, and I held my breath in wonder at the beauty of something I had been too lazy to witness in several years. The mixture of blues, yellows, and fiery red was magnificent, and I studied it all with a critical eye, wondering what the best way to paint it would be. I closed my eyes so I could capture it in my memory, and when I opened them Erik was staring at me with a strange look on his face. As if he had been pole axed.

"Eri-", I started to lean forward, to kiss him, to tell him I loved him, but he must have caught the wild look in my eyes, because he scrambled up, standing on the rock and looked out over the sea. I could hear his breathing was harsh, could see his fists clenched at his sides, and knew he had nearly told me the same. It broke my heart that he couldn't say the words, and I had lost the opportunity. He was unreceptive when I asked him to sit back down, and with a sigh I gathered up the blanket, and we walked back through town in silence.

There were a few people out, most of them I did not recognize, but the ones who I did gaped at me, looking between us as if we had just stumbled out of a wild wood in absolute nakedness. For once I don't think Erik noticed anything or anyone as he stalked back to the house, and I had to struggle to keep up with him, even though he made no attempt to indicate he wanted me to walk beside him.

We returned to the house in mutual misery, and I went to my room instead of my studio, too depressed to paint. Our beautiful morning, ruined, and for no other reason than I wished to tell him how I felt. I suddenly felt like the words would never come out, and they would be suspended in my heart forever.

I knew that Nicolas had told him, and he had said it back, although it looked as if it nearly killed him to do so.

For the first time, in a very long time, I locked my bedroom door and kneeled by the bed, silently praying for my husband, and seeking guidance to help him realize that love is not a sin, it is a gift, and I wished to bless him, a thousand times over.


	45. The Shattered Man

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

There is a fate for me, I know, and for far too long I have imagined that it was my destiny to be alone. Now the strands had changed, the threads had been reversed, and I was bound to a woman for the rest of my life. It was an indenture I was not willing to sever, and yet I could no more embrace my newfound life than I could have predicted my future. Perhaps that was the problem itself. The uncertainty of what lay ahead if I told her how I felt.

And I had indeed felt it, this morning more than any other. I had looked at her, with her eyes closed, her face greeting the sun, and I had known then I was condemned. There was nowhere for me to run anymore, and the chains around my neck were growing increasingly tight. I wasn't sure what would set me free: confession, or seclusion.

For now, I chose the later. It was safer, and more predictable. I still hadn't forgotten the sting of Christine's actions when I had told her I loved her. She had pressed that damn ring into my palm, and sailed away with her cherubic angel. Her true Angel. The Angel of Love. Cupid, with a smile, leaving the demon crying helplessly.

She had ripped my heart out with cruel and careless precision, but I had known before I ever pursued her that she would never be mine. Now, I no longer cared.

I felt an indifference when I thought of her now, except for the humiliation that I suffered at her hands. I had Nicolas now. My life had purpose, a true meaning. I had a son, and nothing could destroy that. He was mine, and I had never even tried to force him. I had Laure, because I had seen the way she looked at me this morning, and I knew what she felt, for I felt it too.

So why was I denying fate, and choosing solitude instead of confession? The answer is in my twisted heart somewhere, and so far has eluded me. The words coming from Nicolas had been unexpected, and welcome, even if they had been achingly sweet. Coming from Laure? They were the ultimate devotion, and I would welcome them, but I didn't want to hear them, because I wasn't sure I could say them back. I wasn't sure what saying them would lead to, and the beautiful sunlit path was frightening.

I was weak, and I chose the darkness. There was nothing to fear in the shadows, and pain was what lay in the light.

------------------------

She came upstairs after dinner and knocked on the door. I didn't answer, but she opened it anyway, her eyes peering into the darkness, finally finding me sitting in the chair near the window.

"Erik? I brought you something to eat," she said softly, pushing the door open with her foot as she juggled a tray.

"It was unnecessary."

She brought it in the rest of the way and set it on a table near the door. I caught a faint aroma of beef, and my stomach betrayed me by growling. I thought I saw her smiling, but I couldn't be sure.

"Do you know where the light is?" she asked, turning around in the room.

I reached out and tapped the glass globe with my finger, and she moved toward me, her hand extended to remove the case.

"I don't need it turned on. I'm fine," I said coolly.

She knelt beside me on the floor and placed her hand on my knee.

"Did I do something wrong?" she whispered, "No...," she said firmly, "I know I didn't. Why should I bother asking? I just wanted to tell you...," the words were stopped as I pressed my finger against her lips.

"Don't."

"Erik," she said weakly, "There is nothing wrong with it. _I love you_. You don't have to say it back. You don't even have to feel it. Its nothing to be ashamed of, or afraid of. _I love you_. Three words can't destroy you. They are just words."

She was wrong. They were more than words. Tears fell down my cheeks in the darkness, and I didn't even realize it. They slid between my face and the mask, and farther down until they hit the air, like raindrops upon the highest leaves that finally reach the earth. Her hand touched my face briefly, and wiped away the tears, but I turned my face away and removed the mask in the darkness, brushing at them angrily.

"Do you want me to leave?" she asked timidly, and I knew it was for my benefit, not hers.

I didn't answer, but I took her hand and rubbed it across the left side of my face, and into my hair. I was startled when I felt her other hand reach up and touch the right side, and I pulled away from her, air hissing through my teeth when I felt her perfect flesh touch mine.

She removed herself completely from my touch, and I saw her head nodding slightly in the dark.

"I'll leave then," she whispered, and I realized she was crying too.

She stood up, and I did as well, capturing her arms and putting her hands back on me, on my horrid face as I sobbed. She was tense for a moment, but her hands moved over my flesh gently, tracing tears with her finger, her palm cupping my cheek, the drooping and rounded face that had given me nightmares as a child, and caused so much anger as a man.

"I do love you," she said gently, and pulled my face down to hers for a kiss.

Her hands lingered on my face as our mouths met, as our tongues traced each other hesitantly, then she moved her lips to my cheek, to the rest of my face, and left no space untouched. She caressed me in the darkness, her hands and lips moving over me as if I were something fragile, something she was afraid of damaging.

"I don't want to be alone anymore," I said pathetically, "I don't know what to do. Laure...I can't do this. I'm sorry, I just can't."

"Shh."

With a gentle sigh, she continued kissing me, her hands threading through my hair as she moved her body in closer. My fear was soon forgotten as she coaxed me onto the bed, shedding her clothes in favor of sliding under the covers with me. We kissed in the darkness, holding each other, but doing nothing more. I removed my shirt so that I could hold her and feel her warm skin next to mine.

"I thought about you for a long time, Erik," she murmured, her face moving to my neck to burrow in, "I always wanted you to find us, to come here, to marry me. Be a father to Nicolas. Spend nights in my bed, just like this. Ten years, of hoping that you would show up. If things had worked out the way I wanted...the way I imagined...we would have a dozen children by now."

"A dozen?" I asked hastily, "I don't think we need a dozen."

"You don't?"

I looked down at her and could see the faint smile on her face in the darkness.

"Perhaps only half a dozen," I said with a reluctant laugh.

"You saw those paintings...," she said with a sigh, "...you must realize that I never meant to offend you. I remembered you that night...wearing the mask. Not as the man the khanum had in her courtyard."

"What about the ones of me here...?"

"Dreams," she whispered, "beautiful dreams. I was so young when I came back, I had such ridiculous girlish thoughts about you. I knew what kind of man you were, and I still couldn't help but dream in the most absurd fashion."

"You dreamed about me?" I asked, leaning over her, wishing I could see clearly into her eyes.

"Oh, yes. Thats what girls do when they're in love," she said casually.

My heart pounded in my chest again, as it had the other three times she had said those words. I trembled as the weight of knowledge descended into me, and realized she had indeed thought about me as long as I had about her. Except I hadn't felt love...I had felt desire, confusion, a longing for something I had not known if I had ever possessed or not. And she had slipped away from me like the stem of a wineglass in wet fingers. She had left my grasp, and remembered me in shards upon the floor.

"I did love you...until I found out you loved Christine."


	46. Revelations in Shadow

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I held my breath, feeling a frenzy in my lungs like a cracked sylphon, and I leaned forward expectantly waiting for her to say more.

_"Loved?"_ I finally managed, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I was disappointed and angry...even though I had no right to be. I know that now, but when Nadir wrote to me five years ago...," she clamped her mouth shut, blowing air though her lips harshly.

"What? Nadir wrote to you...and what?" I prodded her, moving my face so that hers was no longer in my shadow.

"Erik...," she sighed and turned her face away, "I...you're going to think I'm foolish. Naïve. Which I was. I'm not the same person I was five years ago."

"Tell me." I pleaded, "Tell me what you thought about me and Christine."

"No. You were right before, about me not judging you for wanting to love her."

"I want to know," I insisted, feeling a little angry that she wouldn't share that with me, even though I had no right. I hadn't shared anything with her, and I was expecting her to give me everything.

She sighed again, and scooted up in the bed, pulling the sheet across her breasts and tucking it beneath her arms, "I was in love with you, and when I found out about her I was jealous. It broke my heart, and I hated her, and I thought I hated you as well." she said bluntly, "Then Nadir wrote just a few months ago...he told me about the fire, about what had happened..."

"And you felt sorry for me?" I bit out, "You felt sorry because she didn't love me, and she had someone else, someone handsome and young, from a prestigious family? Is that it, Laure?"

"No," she said quickly, "I did feel sorry for you, because she treated you like rubbish, and you let her! She didn't deserve you for a moment, and you pursued her like an infatuated schoolboy, letting her take away your self respect and dignity!" her voice trembled with sudden fury, "I loved you, and you let that _girl_ bury you beneath an empire of hate and madness. You let her take away your...sanity, and when she betrayed you, you took it lying down, because you still love her and wanted her to be happy, instead of telling her how you felt!"

I drew back from her in surprise, especially when her fists slammed against the mattress, and she gave a shriek of outrage and did it again. I turned and lit the lamp, finding her wild eyed and crying, and her face incredibly angry. Her entire body was shaking, and she tensed when I rested a hand against hers.

"Is that what you think?" I said quietly, "You think I just...let her go, without telling her what I felt? That I let her go because I wanted her happy?" I shook my head, "No. I didn't care what she did anymore. Did Nadir tell you...Christine kissed me that night?"

"No," she said icily, glaring at me.

"Laure...," I struggled to bring the humiliating words to my mouth, to force them through, "...I have lived all these years, and not once had I ever been kissed. Not by anyone. Not my father, Giovanni, not my mother. There was no one. When I made her choose...it was her kiss that released me, and her. If it hadn't been for that...she could quite possibly have stayed with me in that cellar for eternity, and Raoul de Chagny would have been floating in my lake somewhere. I knew when she kissed me, that she did it out of pity, and nothing more. She loved him, and I was a worthless animal to her. A beast...who didn't deserve anything, except being pitied, and feared."

"I kissed you." she whispered, her face breaking as tears rolled down her cheeks, "Four times, on your hand. I would have done more, but you asked me not to."

"I can't change the past, Laure. I can't change what I remember, and what I don't. There were times I could recall things about that night, but I assumed they were part of my imagination. It tends to grow when you have nothing to do, and no one to talk to," I said, brushing away her tears, "I can't change what happened with Christine, but I will regret it for as long as I live. I never should have done those things, I never should have lived in the opera house. I should have been here with you and Nicolas, and I would have married you a long, long time ago."

"Do you still love her, Erik?" she asked softly, avoiding my eyes.

"I never loved her," I said firmly, "that wasn't love...that was desperation and loneliness. It was foolish, and I did it because I thought I could make her do as I pleased. I thought if I isolated her, she would be willing to do anything for me...and would love me. I thought she would see me as a man, and not a beast."

"You are _not _a beast!" she snapped, "Stop saying that, right this instant!"

I stared at her a moment, and realized that I had never replaced my mask. She was glaring at me, and not looking at me with horror. She was angry, and not the least bit concerned about my face. I looked down at my feet, giving her my left side in profile.

We sat in silence for several moments, collecting our thoughts. I tried valiantly to think of something to say to fill the silence, but her words had caused another crack in the shield around me, and I was struggling not to give in to tears. I was shocked at the vehemence and hostility in her tone when she spoke of Christine. Not that I hadn't felt the same, but she seemed genuinely angry at the girl.

"I'm sorry," she finally said, and I looked at her in surprise.

"What for?"

"I have no right to say anything about her. I don't know her, and you obviously had...or have very strong feelings about her. It isn't my place to say anything concerning Christine," she said dully.

I twisted around to my side, hoping she wouldn't look at me, but merely allow me to study her. Her face was pale, her mouth tight, and her eyes were avoiding mine again. I leaned close to her, blocking out all light from her view as I kissed her and stroked her cheek. Her hand moved up to rest on my shoulder, and the other one moved through my hair.

"You don't have to apologize to me about anything." I murmured, "But honestly, I never did love her, and she never drove me to do those things. I did them myself, and there is no one to blame but me. I...I did tell her that I loved her, right before she left with him, but I know now that it was all a lie. A beautiful lie I created, because I needed _something_ to believe in. Christine isn't a bad person, but I did things to her...I tricked her, I manipulated her...and I can't blame her for wanting nothing to do with me," I sighed raggedly, "...but she did it in a way...such a way, like I was worthless. That was what drove me over the edge. She never asked me to further her career, never asked me for a damn thing, and I willingly gave her what I could, knowing it would never be enough."

"Not enough for her maybe," she spat.

I felt her entire body tense beside me, like a coil that had been wound again and again, and now there was nowhere left for it to go. Nothing to do but free it, to set it loose, and watch as it sprung free and twisted dizzily through the air. The words welled inside me, begging for release, pushing through the mire and blackness until they found the strength at last in the light.

"Is it enough for you?" I asked in a rough tone. I lowered my eyes as I waited for her response, as my heart desperately waited to heart those words again, before I made that ultimate surrender.

"You have always been enough for me." she answered softly, "I love you. I have always loved you."

With her words, she freed the last chains around my soul, the ones that held my heart firmly in place, and the swinging ends knocked the remainder of the walls down. They crashed in dust and rubble, and I shook off the debris with a vengeance as life and longing surged through me with a force that was nearly exhausting by itself.

I pulled her across the bed against me, pressing kisses across her face, around her neck, praising her, worshiping her for freeing me. She knew everything, and she still loved me. Laure knew all my secrets, and was willing to share with me everything, to give me hope, and light, and love.

With my mouth against her ear, and in the barest of whispers, though I wanted to shout, I told her that I loved her too.


	47. A Curious Morning

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_My prayers had been answered._

He had turned the lamp off, and we were lying together in the darkness, not attempting to do anything other than hold one another, with an occasional touch or kiss. My head rested on his arm, my hand across his chest, my thigh flung across lower body, pressed against a part of him that told me he would do more than this, but he seemed as content as I was, to just listen to one another breathing in the dark. He traced lazy circles in the center of my back, and stroked my hair, and I sighed as his fingers moved lower, only to move back up again.

He loved me.

I hadn't known how badly I needed to hear those words from him, or that I needed to at all. I thought my love for him was strong enough, and his affection and gentleness would be enough. But hearing those words had broken through the thin patch of ice on the surface of a frozen lake. Beneath was a swirling maelstrom of emotions and desires I hadn't even known I possessed. Things were there I hadn't known I wanted, like his utter devotion, the secret to his heart, knowing things...intimate things about him that no one else knew. His favorite color...if he had any other interests other than music, architecture, and magic.

I wanted to know him. Not the Phantom, not the khanum's Angel of Doom. I wanted to know Erik.

"Do you think you will move your things in here?" his body rumbled against my ear.

"Is that an invitation?" I asked dryly, smiling and pressing a kiss against his chest.

"I must ad_mit_-," he said sharply when I bit him, "there seems to be a surprisingly infinite number of benefits to the idea."

"If I move my things in here..." I said cautiously, "you won't have any privacy at all. Nicolas has the cove, I have the studio...you won't have anything."

"I have the ship."

I shifted my neck so I could be closer to his face, and pressed a kiss to his chin and jaw, the only things I could reach. He obliged me by moving his mouth to mine for a moment, before he settled back against his pillow.

"You can change this house any way you like. I know you have the knowledge and skills for it. You could build a study, or a music room, whatever you want. I...don't have any money myself," I said slowly, "but my father-"

"No!"

His harsh comment startled me a moment, and I sighed, "He is very well off, Erik."

"So am I," he said flatly.

"From the theater?" I sat up to look at him, "That isn't your money, and you should return it."

"_What?"_

"It sets a bad example for Nicolas," I said primly, "he shouldn't think that it is alright to steal."

He laughed a moment, then said mildly, "I built that place. That _monstrosity,_ during the war, and Garnier accepted me as a contractor, knowing I was really an architect. He allowed me to work for him because I made him an offer he couldn't refuse. I lost all the money I made in Persia in that building, because when the government stopped providing funding for it, I made it a personal goal to keep construction going. The workers did not go without a job during the war, or food, because I paid them, _with my own money!" _

By the time he had finished speaking he was no longer humorous, and I felt his breath blowing with great force on my face.

"Oh."

"Is that all you have to say?" he demanded, _"Oh? _You think I would want Nicolas to steal for the sake of stealing? The only people I ever stole from were too rich to ever realize anything was missing, and I had no other way of paying for those things people need, like food, clothing," he paused for a moment, then sighed wearily, "the occasional gift for Madame Giry, her daughter, and Christine."

"Who bought those things?" I asked, deciding to ignore the fact that he had bought things for other women, and not for me. I knew who the other two women were, although I wasn't sure why Erik would buy them a gift.

"I had an assistant. When I left Persia I designed and built houses, and people paid a lot of money for something with my name attached to it. Because that was all they ever knew about me. Jules Bernard was a mason, and I used him to acquire everything I needed, even after I moved into the opera house. Half of the money from the theater went to his salary, for providing me with things I needed, and did not want to have to tend to myself."

If he could have seen the look on my face, he would most certainly have laughed.

"You paid him ten thousand francs to be your...your...m-manservant?" I asked in shock.

"Ten thousand francs a month," he corrected, "he would have done it for free. He thought I was going to kill him, because he knew the way into my house."

"Would you have?" I whispered, "Or did you?"

"No. He is no longer in my employ. His wife...objected to my presence. She found me _distasteful,_ and frightening to her and the children," he snorted, "stupid, ignorant woman. She should have been grateful her husband made so much money and her children could afford to attend any school in all of France!"

"For ten thousand francs, it could have been all of Europe," I muttered.

"So, _wife_, may I keep my stolen fortune?" he asked mockingly.

"It is yours," I admitted, with a huge yawn.

"You should rest," he said, his voice losing all its sarcasm. He shifted back down to the bed and pulled me against his chest.

"Despite your tone, I like it when you call me wife," I said, feeling a thrill when he whispered it against my ear. It was more seductive this time, sweeter, and possessive.

"I love you." he breathed against my neck, rolling over me and pinning me to the bed, "You are beyond gorgeous," he groaned as his mouth found my breast, "beyond...anything. You smell so sweet..."

He continued whispering sentiments against my skin, his hands roaming from my knee to my thigh, then higher as he touched me where I needed and wanted him.

He made love to me with a gentle intensity that stole my breath, and the remainder of my heart, and only when I begged him, no, _demanded_, that he join me, did he finally take part in the deliberate torture he had summoned for me. I gave myself to him, knowing that there was nothing left for me to teach him, nothing at all. He had surpassed my knowledge of the subject, and I was just another instrument in the hands of a master.

----------------------

He was lying on his back when I woke up, the left side of his face the only thing that I could see. His face was relaxed, his mouth open slightly, and a soft snore rolled past his lips. I smiled, wondering if that was what had made my eyes open. I would have closed them again, because it was far too early for me to be awake, but he looked so peaceful...so young...I let him sleep, and I watched him for most of the morning. I didn't merely watch his face, I studied the rise and fall of his chest, the way the light played across his skin. When I shifted suddenly his eyes opened and he gazed at the ceiling a moment before they slid to me, without his neck ever turning to look at me.

"Good morning," I whispered, moving closer to him on my stomach.

He turned away from me for a moment, and I saw his hand reach out and snatch the mask from the table, and he balanced on his hip as he placed it on. When he rolled over to face me, a grim smile was on his face as he met my eyes.

"How long have you been awake?" he asked, and I knew he was really asking if I had scrutinized him while he slept.

"Not long," I lied, feigning a yawn.

I hadn't looked at the right side of his face because I had known he wouldn't want me to. That was the same reason I didn't comment on him putting the mask on first thing. If this was what he needed for me to stay with him, I would allow him his rituals and wouldn't pry.

Instead I slid against him full length and stretched against his body, from chest to toes, my eyes widening as they contacted rigid flesh against my inner thigh.

"You're insatiable," I whispered, "how can you possibly think of something like that after last night?"

He had the nerve to grin, "I'm afraid this is part of being a man. I don't necessarily have to be thinking about anything. This is how I usually wake up."

I blushed. It had to be agony for something to be there to remind you every morning that there was no possible way to relieve your urges. Well, maybe not impossible. I blushed again, recalling something else I had been told once in the harem, and quickly got out of bed before I opened my mouth and told him.

"Going somewhere?" he asked lazily, the reason for my embarrassment obvious beneath his sheet.

His eyes met mine as I glanced back up to his face, and he smirked a little, then placed my pillow across his hips.

"Well...you never ate yesterday," I said obtusely.

"Come back to bed."

"Erik...," I began, but he raised his eyebrow at me.

"Come here."

I climbed back onto the bed with him, and he turned me over and wrapped his arm around my stomach and pulled me tightly against his body.

"You should walk around my room naked every morning," he murmured against my ear, his hand moving from my stomach to my hip, then caressed my derrière, "I never realized this part of a woman could be so enticing."

I tried to move around, to face him, but he braced against me, not allowing me to move anywhere but backwards.

"Erik...what are you doing?" I whispered, although I knew. This was something I had not told him yet, but something I had been taught.

"I'm satisfying a curiosity..."

--------------------------------

Just a note...sometimes I mean to type 'thigh' and it comes out as 'thing', and the computer doesn't catch it, and it might be a little funny in some parts of the story, such as 'he touched my thing' instead of 'he touched my thigh'. Just letting you know...those aren't the words I meant to type, although they would work, but they don't really make sense as far as correct 19th century grammar goes. Oh, yeah...and this chapter might seem a little weird, but it was not intended to be anything other than normal sex...nothing kinky...just letting you know.


	48. Rumors and Lunch

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

She finally coaxed me from bed, and ended up bullying me into lunch at her mother's house. If my stomach hadn't been so insistent, and my wife as well, I would have preferred waiting until Nina prepared dinner. Since I had chosen not to eat anything at all the day before, I was not able to put up much of a defense against Laure, and she chastised me like a child for not taking better care of myself.

"Isn't that your job now?" I asked mockingly.

She snorted, "If you depend on me to serve your meals, you _will_ starve. Thats why my father hired Nina for me."

She knocked on the door before entering, calling her mother loud enough to have raised the dead.

"Laure?" her mother appeared out of the kitchen, "What are you doing here?"

"I thought we might impose on you for lunch. I'll help any way I can."

Clare laughed, "Sure you will. I remember what happened last time you _helped_ me. It took a month for the smoke to get out of my furniture."

"Is there anything you don't have? I can send Nina to town, or see if she has anything in the house," she offered, blushing a fiery red.

"Now that you mention it, I don't have any fresh bread. Since your father hasn't been here to consume it, I haven't made anything since he left," she said walking back towards the kitchen.

I followed Laure dumbly when she indicated that I should, but took one look at the narrow room and felt sweat bead on my forehead. Her mother would be cooking, moving all around this room while Laure and I sat at the table against the wall. It was too close, too intimate, and I stood stiffly in the doorway.

"I'll get the bread," I muttered, looking at Laure for permission to leave. I didn't want to offend either one of them, but being in a small kitchen with two women was beyond torture for me.

"Thank you," Laure said in surprise, moving towards me for a kiss. I backed out of the room entirely before I let her lips land anywhere near my face. She sighed in exasperation and shooed me out of the house.

I could have wept in gratitude that I didn't find Nina in the kitchen when I returned home. Oman was gazing vacantly at a wall when I entered, and looked startled when I demanded some bread.

"Bread?" he looked confused, and glanced around the kitchen for a moment.

I began opening cabinets, searching for it, when I heard a sound of triumph behind me.

"Bread?" he offered it to me, as if unsure this was what I wanted.

I wrapped it in a cloth and carried it back to the Bourne's, hesitating a moment before I entered without knocking. Before I could enter the kitchen I heard Laure's angry voice snapping from the kitchen, "What business is it of theirs? We haven't done a damn thing, least of all him. He doesn't deserve to be judged for something he had no part in! He wasn't even here that night!"

"I know. I'm just saying I heard them talking, and they were bothering Nina in the market," her mother replied, sounding close to tears.

"Did she say anything?" Laure asked suspiciously.

"No. She did very well, told them that you were generous to her, and allowed her to stay for many years when no one else would hire her," Clare said softly.

"Do you think Pascal's family would come here? Do you think they would do anything to stir up trouble?" she asked, "There is no proof that Etienne Sagesse ever existed. None. It was a name I made up...and would have never been compromised if Erik hadn't come here. If they hadn't started that awful rumor..."

I listened with anger beating in my heart, and realized I was crushing the bread. I opened the door to the kitchen, and all conversation immediately halted.

"What rumor?" I asked with quiet fury.

"Erik!" Laure looked up at me, her face paling. "You shouldn't be eavesdropping."

"You shouldn't be discussing people who aren't there."

"So I should invite the townspeople?" she snapped, "It has nothing to do with you. This was my problem, long before you ever arrived, and Etienne Sagesse was part of it, not you."

"Since I _am_ Sagesse," I bit out, "then I suggest you tell me what trouble I may be in."

She glanced at her mother, who was pretending to wash a plate.

"They say Etienne and I killed Pascal, and ran away to be married in Marseilles. It was something they came up with because they didn't believe I was kidnapped by pirates, and truthfully, I thought it sounded better than being mauled by barbarians, so I never defended myself," she said tensely.

"You were fourteen," I said tightly, tossing the bread onto the table, "how could they come up with something so cruel?"

"This is a small community. It was easier for the to believe I had done something, rather than evil actually coming here to the island," she shrugged, "and I thought it sounded better if I had a mysterious husband who traveled the world building palaces, rather than being kidnapped, sold, and gifted to a mysterious man who built palaces."

"One palace," I muttered.

I took a deep breath, and was immediately assaulted by the most delicious smells in the kitchen. How had I not noticed before? I looked over to Clare, and she was adding things to a pot in a frenzy, not really bothering to measure anything or look at quantity, just throwing them in there as if it wouldn't matter what it came out like, knowing it would be perfect no matter what she did.

I watched in fascination as she cooked, and at some point Laure had tugged me into the chair beside her, and we both watched in agony as she cooked lunch.

"They can't do anything." Laure finally murmured, "There is no proof of anything, and it happened seventeen years ago."

"People have been convicted and imprisoned for less than a rumor," I said carelessly, "I would hate to be sent to one of those tropical prisons for a crime I didn't commit."

"I would confess everything before I let that happen." she whispered, reaching over to squeeze my arm until I looked at her, "Perhaps its time for me to leave Ajaccio."

"This is your home." I shook my head, "This is Nicolas's home. You can't leave."

"There are far worse things than being away from here." she said, tears beginning in her eyes, "I can't lose you again. Home isn't a place. I would have been happy anywhere as long as my family were with me."

"Your father is thinking of retiring." her mother said over her shoulder, "He hasn't mentioned it, but he was thinking of settling around Cherbourg. He thought Nicolas might like to be closer to Britain, and we wouldn't have to leave France."

"But Papa loves it here," she said, her eyes widening, "he wouldn't allow them to run him out of here."

"No. He wouldn't. But it is nearly impossible for him to get new commissions anymore, since we are so isolated. Times have changed. The days of the independent naval architect are gone, and now everyone wants something built from English shipyards. He thinks it will be a great opportunity for Nicolas, and he says he has tired of the way our family has been treated here since...since you returned," she sighed and beat the spoon against the side of the pot, "and I'm tired of it as well."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her eyes lowering to the table.

I reached out and took her hand, kissing her palm and fingers.

"You did nothing wrong," I said gently, "they are the ones who should be ashamed."

Clare set a bowl of something in front of me, and another in front of Laure, and my mouth began to water immediately. She cut the bread with a slowness that nearly had me grumbling before she fixed her own bowl and sat down with us.

"He's right," she said firmly, "you did nothing wrong. But if you want to leave, I think Vincent already has the perfect place in mind."


	49. The Menopausal Mother

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

I finished helping my mother clear the table and wash dishes, and found Erik examining the paintings along the wall near the stairs. I watched as he stood with his hands behind his back, his head tilting at several angles, trying to figure out what I had painted.

"We didn't understand it either," my mother said dryly.

"It's a cow," he said cautiously, "no, an _ox_."

"You can see it?" I demanded, going to stand beside him.

"Well, it is certainly unique, but yes, I see it," he replied, tracing his finger over the various parts of the animal and the cart that were broken up throughout the entire painting.

"I witnessed a cart crash while I was in Istanbul. A horse was running wild in the streets, and ran right into this man who was taking his goods to the market. The horse wasn't hurt, and ran off with silk fabric tangled in his mane and around his neck. The ox had a silk scarf around his horns, and the driver was cursing loudly in a language Oman refused to translate," I smiled, remembering that I had thought it terribly funny.

"This is the horse?" Erik pointed to the lower section of the canvas.

"No. Thats the driver," I moved his hand to the top, "this is the horse."

"If you say so."

I laughed and pulled him away from the abstract image, showing him another more traditional canvass, which he liked.

"Why don't you try to sell these?" he asked, giving me an encouraging look.

"Women don't usually stand a chance of selling their work," I returned wryly, "besides...I don't think the things I paint would ever sell."

"Apparently you've never been inside the Louvre," he muttered, "they are always acquiring unique and...talented artists."

"No, but I have been to the Vatican Museums," I said proudly, "Papa took me to Rome when I was younger."

"Hardly what I would call diverse art," he said blandly, "however beautiful it may be."

"Forgive me if I haven't traveled the world over," I said, frowning at him.

He tossed a beautiful smile over his shoulder, "Would you like to go to Paris with me sometime? I can arrange a..._private _tour after hours of the Louvre."

"Private tour?" I echoed.

"Money can buy just about anything," he laughed, "even guards at the most prestigious art gallery and museum in Europe."

"You truly don't live by any set of rules, do you?" I murmured.

My mother was staring at him in mute fascination, although I wasn't truly surprised.

"I've made a few concessions in my life," he admitted, "certain things do not come as easily to me as they do other people."

"Well, at least allow Nicolas a few more years of innocence before you expose him to your preference to bribe people," I said, giving his shoulder a squeeze, "he's corrupt enough as it is."

Erik continued his lazy smile, "I think he's going to be fine. He doesn't understand half as much as I learned when I was his age."

He turned back to the paintings, continuing down the hallway. I knew when he found the small parlor in the back of the house when I heard him tapping on the keys to the piano, then muttering to himself that it was out of tune.

A few moments later, we were greeted to several chords of a song that made us both sit upright and look at each other. It only lasted about thirty seconds, and when he stopped we stared at each other, waiting for more.

Erik came striding out of the room, looking a little irritated, "I don't suppose you have a tuning kit?"

"No," my mother said calmly, "I'm afraid Nicolas is the only one who ever played it, and he prefers violin."

He scowled further, but didn't say anything else about it.

"That was a beautiful song," I said, taking his hand and making him sit beside me, "did you write it?"

"No. We have an agreement, remember?"

I explained to my mother briefly our wedding-day bargain, and she claimed it was a lovely idea. Of course it was, to her, everything was lovely. I truly think she was more suited to a drawing room in Paris, than an island with no society to speak of.

"Erik, I think we may have taken up enough of her time." I said, rising to place a kiss on her cheek, "Let us know if you need anything. Don't think just because we're newlyweds that you can't come by."

"Oh, your father would never forgive me for disturbing you," she whispered, "but I do hope you enjoy your time together."

I didn't comment, afraid I would say something to embarrass Erik further. He had already shot up towards the door, and was waiting quietly for us to join him.

"Have a good day, Madame Bourne," he said politely, and held the door open for me.

"Please call me Clare," she said, and reached out to pat his arm, "it makes me feel younger."

"You make it sound like you have a foot in the grave," I chided, saving Erik from having to respond.

He tugged me through the door and bid her farewell again, and she stood on the porch, watching us walk up the ridge and disappear over the hill.

"You don't know what to think of her, do you?"

"I have no idea." he said, blowing air through his mouth, "I've never met anyone like her before."

"Thats because there _is _no one else like her. One minute she's fine, the next in tears, or angry, then five minutes later, she's fine again. The last three years have been particularly worse for some reason. Always claiming that its hot, or too cold. She's driving my father insane."

"Is she always like that? Today she seemed fine."

"She always tries to be polite. If one word could describe her...it would be _polite._ No matter how much someone irritates her, or angers her, she is exceedingly kind to them, and only takes it out later in the kitchen, where she proceeds to cook, abuse her cookware, and verbally assault anyone in there with her. And watch out for flying utensils," I said, grinning when he shot me a look of alarm.

"I beg your pardon?"

"She has been known to throw ladles, and the occasional vegetable. Usually directed at my father, although I have been the victim of a tomato before."

He looked utterly baffled, and cast a suspicious look over his shoulder towards the hill, as if my mother may be perched on it ready to sling an eggplant at him. I chuckled to myself and teased him the rest of the way to the house, telling him his immunity only lasted for the first time as a guest in her kitchen, and now he was a potential victim like the rest of us.

I grinned, hoping my mother never had the nerve to actually throw anything at Erik.

I wasn't sure what my reaction would be, but I was beginning to believe it would be laughter.

-----------------------

How do you like my title? Maybe it explains Clare a little more...

Sorry its so short, but I have to go to work :-( I'll try to update later today, cause I get off at 2 this week instead of 5.


	50. Complacency

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

If being under the direct command of a woman was not torture, then nothing was. I had already moved several pieces of her furniture into my room, although I still don't know why she insisted on those particular pieces, when I could have taken something from a closer room.

Now, she wanted me to exchange my bed for hers, which entailed taking them apart, _moving them_, then rebuilding both beds in their new respective bedrooms. I had to admit her bed held more appeal, esthetically speaking, as well as being more comfortable. But did I really have to move _both of them?_

"Why didn't we just stay in your room?" I complained again, ignoring her when she rolled her eyes.

"Do I really have to explain the proximity to Nicolas? I think we may need a little privacy, considering...," she stopped when she saw me smirking at her, "...considering."

"Considering you make more noise than a-"

I stopped when her hand clamped over my mouth, and I looked down onto her red face.

"If you wish to finish that sentence, be aware there will be consequences," she warned, her eyes flashing slightly.

"Consequences?" I asked in a muffled voice, "What kind of consequences?"

"The kind that involve you sleeping alone, since I assume you were going to refer to me as some sort of barnyard animal."

I stepped backwards to her bed and sat down, pulling her in between my legs.

"I would have said more than a thousand bells tolling," I murmured against her neck, "or perhaps louder than the horn on a steamship...or whistle of a train..."

"You aren't exactly silent," she whispered as I ran my hands through her hair, releasing it from its confines, "Erik, it took me an hour to fix my hair this morning," she groaned, although she didn't try to move away from me.

"I love your hair. The way it feels. How it smells. If it were up to me, you would never have to have it bound," I inhaled against her warm skin, letting the brown locks brush against my face, "except perhaps around other men. I hope for your sake you never so much as look at another man."

"That is a terribly rude thing to say. We've haven't been married a week yet." she sighed, although she didn't sound offended, "I haven't so much as looked at another man since I met you. Why on earth would I now that I finally have you to myself?"

"To yourself?"

It was her turn to smirk, "Yes. The same principle applies to you. If I ever catch you thinking about a certain..._soprano_...lets just say you will suffer greatly."

I stopped nuzzling her neck, losing all interest in affection at her mention of Christine.

"Its time to get back to work." I muttered, greatly annoyed at her gentle banter, "Why don't you make sure there is nothing in the way while I disassemble the bed?"

"Erik-"

"And please remove all the sheets from the bed before you take off. I have no inclination to be a maid as well as a slave."

"Have you changed your mind?" she demanded, not bothering to move when I indicated that I wanted to stand.

"Changed my mind about what?" I asked patiently.

"Do you still love her?" she asked softly, "After all that has happened?"

"No!"

"Then why did you begin acting like this?" she snapped, "Why, at the sudden mention of her name do you turn to stone, and shut me out?"

"You made a joke...a poor one." I said angrily, "Do you honestly think I would waste anymore time on her now? Why would I? I shouldn't have spent all those years pursuing her, trying to change her, trying to make her have some feeling for me other than fear, or daughterly devotion. I should have been _here_, instead of being _there_..," I groaned and fisted my hands through my hair, "...you have no idea what loneliness is, Laure. No idea what can go through a man's mind when they have no one to talk to...not one single person. By the time Nadir arrived...I was so far gone, I don't think anything he said could have saved me. Except for what he didn't...if he had told me about you, I swear I would have come here," I looked her in the eyes, letting her see the pain in mine, "I _swear_ I would have come here. Nothing would have stopped me."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, putting her arms around me, "I didn't mean to upset you. I...I will always be jealous of her, for having you to herself for so long. It makes me almost crazy...thinking of the closeness you shared, of the passion you found together in music."

"That was all I had to offer her, Laure, and it would have never been enough. Even for me. I wanted everything...I wanted a family," I caressed her cheek, offering a wordless apology for ever showing affection for another woman, "and now I have one. Now I have everything I wanted," I placed my hand across her stomach firmly, pressing into her with a desperateness that sent her backwards a step, "and I want more than anything to see you with my child again."

"I love you," she said, her eyes becoming bright and beautiful with tears, "I want that too."

I hesitated a moment, "If there is a chance that it should look like me..."

"The child will be beautiful, no matter what they look like. We didn't do badly with Nicolas. He's going to be as handsome as his father."

I felt a weight of ice sink into my stomach, and I uttered what I knew were words of self pity, "Don't say that. I can't take mockery from you."

Her eyes narrowed at me, "I am not _mocking_ you. I am telling you how I see you. Do you not think Nicolas is a beautiful child?"

"I do. But he..."

"He looks just like you. Don't bother denying it," she said impatiently.

I wasn't sure what to make of her compliment. No one had ever paid me one before, and I felt extremely awkward in the presence of someone so beautiful, being told that I was something other than...horrendously ugly...grotesque beyond words. Yet, she didn't sound like she was trying to belittle me, or placate me with an insincere word. She sounded...God forbid...earnest.

"Laure..."

"I love you," she repeated, giving me a kiss on my jaw, "I love every part of you. I even love your mask."

_"My mask?"_

The utterly ridiculous words were flung from my throat before I could halt them. Talking about it...giving it an actual name, in conjunction with identifying it as mine was painful, especially in front of her. Especially when she said the words, and referred to it as mine. Somehow it made me feel less...masculine. If that were possible with a disgustingly mangled face.

"I think the mask,_ this_ mask in particular is beautiful," she whispered, tracing her hand around it softly, "I was frightened when you first appeared wearing it in the library."

"Why?" I managed to whisper, enthralled by her unique take on what I regarded as the thing I hated most in the world.

"I saw your face...this side...," she caressed the left side of my face, "and I saw Nicolas, and I was unprepared for him...or you...looking so...old."

"Old?"

"Older," she amended, smiling at me a little, "I thought I would be seeing the one you wore in Persia. That was what I was expecting. Not to see your face, _either_ side of it. You once told me you would prefer to cover it in its entirety, although I wanted to see you that night."

"Why?"

I was reduced again to one word questions, because the things she was telling me were impossible too believe...too beautiful.

"I wanted to kiss you," she whispered, leaning down to do just that, "I wanted to see your face...while we were joined. I wanted to witness your pleasure. I wanted to see what you looked like as you abandoned yourself to me. The only thing I could see were those beautiful green eyes. Eyes that have haunted my dreams...my waking thoughts, for a very long time. I loved how expressive they were when we made love, how you closed them, and then opened them to look back into mine as you relinquished yourself to me, and I to you. You were blinded with passion, so lost in the moment that I saw every bit of beauty in your soul. It was then that I knew I loved you," she kept her face close to mine as she continued her wondrous litany, "I love this mask because I can see you, because I can kiss you, and I love looking, and kissing, and touching you. I love this mask because it is beautiful, and it suits you so well. It makes you look particularly...dangerous, which I love, and it is matched so well to the other side, which is always so stern...so handsome...slightly foreboding, and it makes me want to replace the expressions with something much more wicked..."

"You are certainly on the right path," I said weakly, immobilized by her speech, and the fact that she had begun kissing me again.

Before I realized it, her feather light kisses had transferred from my skin to the mask, and she praised every inch of it as if it were my own skin. I couldn't feel her _lips_...but I could feel! Down to my core, I felt those sweet movements across my mask. Yes, _my_ mask! I held very still as she indulged in her wicked fantasy, as she proceeded to kiss me with the passion of a lover...and was still discovering things about them that fascinated her. Her lips swept through the eye hole and bestowed my lid with one of her fleeting kisses, before they were gone, moving across the brow, to the cheek, making their way down...down...until at last they found my mouth again.

"Will you allow me to compliment you?" she whispered, "Allow me the opportunity to give you respect and love...to show you, and be able to tell you how much you truly mean to me? It is what I want most in this world. That...and our children to always be safe and happy."

"I will," I somehow managed, although by then my brain had become so fuddled with images of her lying on the bed behind me...our marriage bed...that I hadn't even bothered too move to our new space together.

Suddenly I couldn't quite wait to put things together for her...to prove that I was more than a man who wore a mask, and had nothing to offer her but constant self pity and doubt. I wanted her to see that I was capable of the things she asked, and would be honored to do what she requested, because I wanted to please her. I wanted her to be happy, and if spinning the house on its axis was something she wanted, I would do my best to arrange it.

"I love you, Laure," I said softly, my voice overcome with such a strain of emotion that I could scarcely speak, "I do love you, and I want you to be happy. I want all those things from you...because I've never heard them before, and coming from you...I know how much you mean them. I can't promise that I will always be complacent and pious, but I want to try to make you happy. If saying those things is what you need...then far be it from me to say you can't repeat them."

"I want more than that, Erik," she whispered, "I want you to _believe_ them."

When she looked at me in such a way...God, how I wanted to.

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I'm sorry I haven't updated. I don't know if you've ever had a job that was so utterly boring that after you finally got to leave you wanted nothing more than to veg out in front of a TV, and not think of anything, which is what you've actually been doing all day anyway. I was so tired yesterday I was ready to quit, and its only my fourth day! AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! I wish I was a famous writer, and didn't have to bow to the commands of anyone.


	51. Submit Yourself to Me

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

I stripped the sheets from the bed for him, and watched silently as he lifted the mattress and set it against the wall, then turned around to look through the grid chain at what lay beneath the bed. I had fit most of the canvasses I had done of him beneath it. The largest ones were hidden in my closet, and two more were behind the headboard. He glanced up at me a moment, then knelt to remove the grid chain from the bed rails.

"I had wondered where they were," he said quietly.

"I couldn't depend on you not to destroy them if you had the chance. I won't let you take them from me," I said, raising my chin defiantly.

He tilted his head back to look at me in surprise, "You want them that much?" he shook his head, "Why?"

"They belong to me. I...they have been a secret of mine for a long time, and I want to keep them. Someday Nicolas will have them, and I think it should be his decision...or our future children...of whether or not they want to keep them."

"I believe Nicolas has already seen them," he said, returning to his task.

"He has?" I asked slowly.

"He indicated to me that he has been inside your studio," he said, grimacing slightly, "please don't mention it to him. I don't want him to think I've betrayed him."

"Erik...for as long as I've lived here, no one has been allowed inside that room, except him when he was younger. I thought I had something private. Something mine! And now I find out that it has not only been invaded by you, but by Nicolas as well!" I said, feeling a surge of anger in my veins, "I thought I could trust him! I don't disturb him while he's playing in the cove. I don't go into his room and pry through his things. Don't I deserve the same respect that I give him? Don't I deserve something that is mine, and mine alone?"

I glared at him, my sides heaving, my hands clenching in outrage. How dare they both? I was again angry at Erik, for making me have to hide them in the first place, and at Nicolas, for ever going in there at all. Distantly, I realized these paintings were probably the ones he was looking for, but they were mine! I had given him one! The rest belonged to me!

"What are you going to do once he returns?"

"I have half a mind to take him over my knee!"

He looked up at me, his expression cold and perfectly serious, "You will not lay a hand on him in anger. Ever. Or in any other mood. Is that understood?"

"Erik-"

"Is that understood? He is not to be punished for being curious about me, since I assume that this is the reason the door was locked in the first place. He is not to be punished for any reason at all. Am I making my self clear?" he bit out, his hand gripping the bed rail tightly.

Understanding of a different kind dawned on me then, and the anger vanished as I realized another part of Erik, that I hadn't fully considered. He had been the victim of child abuse. It explained his reluctance to talk about his mother, and whether or not she ever actually hit him, irreparable damage had been done. His spirit had been broken even as a child. I had realized at some point that the scars on his face were something he had been born with. They weren't burns, and did not resemble deliberate torture. How tragic that not even his own mother could love him and comfort him, and instead treated him as everyone else in the world had. Had she placed the blame on him then, for turning out as something less than perfect?

This was not the first time I had been warned not to punish Nicolas. He had asked in a hoarse and emotional voice if I had punished him severely for painting my stairs and door. He had asked what his punishment was to be if he did not meet with him that first evening. He had warned my father that Nicolas was not to be punished for not being courteous and pleasant to me.

Had I given him the indication that I beat my child? I didn't think so. Whatever jest we made in reference to disciplining Nicolas was strictly that...a great joke. The worst thing you could do to Nicolas was remove him from the docks, or not allow him to go sailing.

I kneeled down beside him and removed his stiff clutch on the bed.

"Erik, I have never, _ever_ harmed Nicolas in that way. No one has ever beaten him, or degraded him verbally in regards to something he has done wrong. My family does not beat him. I would never allow it, even if they were inclined to do so, which they are not. Surely you don't think I have ever done anything so cruel." I whispered tightly, watching as his pale face slowly returned to normal as he began breathing again. "I love Nicolas. I would never hurt him, or any other child. Don't you know that about me? I'm not that sort of person. I'm not that kind of mother."

"Your father said he had not raised his hand against him in years. The first day I arrived," he said accusingly, "so I do know that he has been whipped. He is no longer allowed to touch him. Is that clear?"

"Erik, he paddled Nicolas _one time. _One time!. Would you like to know why?" I exploded. "He slipped out of the house and went swimming, _by himself, _when he was six! You're damned right my father whipped him! He painted his back porch red, and I let him! He could have died, and I wouldn't have even known where he was. The sea could have taken him under, and we never would have seen him again!"

His face paled again, and his mouth parted as a breath left his lungs. I knew how he felt, only when it had happened, I thought I would simply die of shock and fright, to find out where he had been, and that he had been alone in that great blue sea, with all the cruelties and unforgiving, merciless power that it held.

"Yes, he was punished for that. But afterwards, when we had all settled down, he was given hugs and kisses all around. We were so happy that he was safe, that he likely forgot that he had ever been punished. I held him so tightly, and I was shaking with such relief and fear that I nearly rattled his teeth loose. You...you don't know what its like to nearly lose him yet, Erik. And I pray that you never do. It is the most awful and horrible feeling in the world. I would die if something ever happened to him. I couldn't bear living without him," I said in harsh short sentences, barely able to stop from weeping. Already my throat was tight from the emotions of recalling my fear that day, of the terror that had rendered my heart as a useless bloody pulp.

"He was safe though?" he finally asked, "No harm came to him?"

"No. He was fine. Yet, he was so proud of himself for doing something so grown up, it angered my father terribly. He made a bigger deal out of the act leading up to the actual punishment, than he did out of the whipping itself, which I don't think was that severe at all. My father has whipped me before, and I don't remember him actually hitting me, but I do remember having to go into his room and lie across his bed and wait for him," I smiled shakily, recalling the few times that it had happened.

"You don't resent him for that?" he asked darkly, "You don't hate him for abusing you?"

"He didn't _abuse_ me. He _disciplined_ me, as was his right as a parent for being headstrong, and not obeying my mother. For playing pranks on the ladies that used to visit her for tea. For sneaking onto one of his ships while the men were working, with one of my friends, and watching them paint the deck. He did it because I was doing things that could have harmed myself, or my mothers friends. He did it because he loved me, and there was nothing else he could think of doing, except banishing me to my room and removing all my art supplies." I sighed heavily, then said wryly, "I would rather take the beating."

"Laure..."

"No. _He_ _didn't hurt me_. I don't recall ever having a problem sitting after it was through. I don't recall him ever leaving a bruise. The biggest part of the process was waiting for him. He made it seem as if he were going to come inside the room and flay me alive. I was told to lie across the bed and wait while he retrieved a switch. That part itself was terrifying," I smiled, "because he could take an hour, just to find the perfect one. He didn't hurt me, Erik. He made me think about it a great deal, and often when he finally would come inside, he would grant me the choice of a written apology to my mother, or whoever I had offended."

"He only hit you on your backside?" he asked softly.

My heart wrenched inside at his unasked question. Had he ever hit my face, my back, my stomach? No.

"Yes." I paused for a minute, and took a breath before continuing, "I know your mother must have hurt you terribly."

He turned his face away from mine, his jaw clenching tightly. His hands moved from mine back to the bed, and he resumed working on taking it apart quickly.

"I'm sorry she wasn't a good parent, Erik. I know it must be difficult to believe, but not all families are like yours."

"I never had a family," he grunted, sliding the grid chain from the bed rails.

"That isn't true. You did have a family, no matter how terrible they were. No matter how badly she treated you, you _did _have a family. It doesn't make you weak to identify yourself as belonging to them. It reflects badly from them, for never giving you what you deserved as a child. For not showing you the love and affection that you needed," I said softly, reaching out to place my hand on his arm.

He looked at me, his eyes bleak and filled with despair. I hated bringing those memories to his mind, however painful they were for him, but I had to make him see the difference between discipline and cruelty. Between right and wrong. However much it comforted me to know he would never hurt Nicolas, or our future children, I couldn't allow him to not punish them, or at least call their bluff. They would never respect him otherwise.

"She hated me, and I hated her," he said softly. "I didn't need her, and she sure as hell never wanted me."

"Thats terrible. You didn't have a typical mother Erik. _She_ was the monster, not you. Don't ever think that whatever madness she surely possessed was your fault. You had no choice in what you looked like."

His jaw tightened again, and I knew I had offended him.

"I love you," I whispered, stroking his cheek. "Your mother sounds as if she were selfish, especially if the only affection she ever showed anyone was your father. You said that was the only person she ever loved. That doesn't mean there was anything wrong with you, but it tells a great deal about her. She didn't deserve you. She didn't deserve any child, but she especially didn't deserve you."

He felt like carved rock beneath my hand, and was as cold and bloodless as if he were dead. I stroked his cheek again, and ran my hand through his hair. His eyes drifted closed at that, and I did it again, seeing his body tremble slightly.

"Let me do for you, what she never did." I whispered, "Let me look upon your face, and kiss you in love. I want you to know that there is a man worth knowing beneath the mask. There is a man inside of you, who desperately wants to be free. _I _want you to be free."

He shook like an earthquake beneath my hands, his head lowered in what I hoped was not shame. His fists pressed against his knees as he sat upon the floor, breathing in great gulps of air, as if the act itself was no longer an involuntary process. I ran my hands across his shoulders, and over his back, murmuring and crooning to him as I used to do Nicolas when he was upset. I could see his hands clenching again at their place on his legs, as he struggled to deny me, to deny himself something that was undoubtedly unbearably difficult for him to want, and to submit himself to.

In slow and careful movements, he deliberately relaxed his hands and reached out to embrace me. His hands closed over my ribs and pulled me to him, and he sobbed roughly against my neck for a moment. I could feel then the tears that he had not allowed me to see. I wrapped my arms around his neck and held him there with an aching sadness and heavy heart.

How dare the world be so cruel to this man? Especially his own mother!

His hand reached up to his face, and I felt him remove the mask. I turned my face into the left side of his and began kissing him softly. I worked slowly to the other side, not bothering with merely pressing chaste kisses to him. I wanted him to feel and see how much I desired him, no matter what he looked like. I had already kissed him here. But I had not seen it in fifteen years. My lips caressed his face, and I kept my eyes open, though his were closed as I looked at what he never wanted me to see. More tears rolled down his cheeks, and I swept them away with my mouth, holding his head steady as I did for him what his mother never had. What no one else ever had. I whispered my love to him, making sure that I repeated his name often since it seemed to cause a greater trembling when I said them together.

I said one last time, "I love you, Erik. You are beautiful to me, inside and out."

It was then that he completely broke down.

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Yea! A long chapter. My birthday present to you! (ITS MY BIRHTDAY, NOT YOURS, HA HA) I'm going out for Greek food for lunch, so enjoy this chapter, and maybe you'll get another one later...maybe not. Toodles.


	52. Weakness in the Soul, Love in the Heart

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

The Bible speaks of the wailing and gnashing of teeth for the sinner cast into the outer darkness. For the sinner condemned to Hell.

I was quickly finding that if I could not stop the tears and racking sobs tearing through my body, I would most certainly rather face the fire than continue weeping like a child.

It seemed, however, I could not stop.

I had not been this unconnected with my self-control in a very long time, and it slipped from me as elusively as my patience often did, taking with it my dignity and masculine ego. Nothing could stop the torrent of tears inside me. Nothing could stop Laure from holding me as if I were a child instead of her grown husband. Her continuing words of love and comfort notwithstanding, the other things she murmured to me were utterly ridiculous. I realized it, and still took comfort in them. I heard them, and could not bring myself to scorn them.

"Shhh," she said gently, "Its alright. Let it all out. I'm here, my love. I'm here for you."

What _nonsense!_

Yet those words, those sweet, beautiful words, from her sweet, beautiful mouth were like the kingdom of heaven to me. The closest yet I had ever been, and in all possibility ever would be.

The gates were open, were they not? I wondered briefly if God were watching me enter with hesitant steps.

"It's okay," I wasn't surprised to hear, "nothing can hurt you now. No one, and nothing. You are safe with me."

How desperately I wanted to believe her. Her gentle and naïve words, which effectively rid me of my pride and self respect, what little I had left, anyway. Her wonderful and sweet nature, uncompromised by the ugliness of the world, even the darkness and death she had seen in Persia. How refreshing to find someone so resilient in this world, who knew what was beyond the edge of madness, and could still believe that there was such a thing as being safe.

Nothing was safe. Nowhere was safe.

Being in her arms _was not safe._

Not for me anyway.

If she could not find the will to stop speaking, and I did not have the temerity to ask, how in God's name would this torment end? She continued onward, still whispering words that made no sense. Not to a thirty five year old man.

Not to me, Erik, The Phantom of the Opera!

"Please stop," I begged.

_I begged._

And surprisingly she did. She stopped talking, and just contented herself with holding me, until at some point I was able to breath. After some great time, I was able to stop crying like a helpless infant. I hid my face from her, ashamed at what I had done. Embarrassed by my lack of restraint.

"What must you think of me?" I whispered, turning my face away from her, "What kind of man do you think I am, to do such a thing?"

"I think you are a man who has finally released much of the pain he has withheld for so long. I think you are a man who has endured an undoubtedly cruel and unforgiving life, and still has the strength to continue, and not only that, to want and expect love. You have my love," Laure said softly, pulling my face around to hers.

I looked into her hazel eyes, amazed that I had not been the only one crying. I had not even realized it in my own madness and grief.

"I'm weak," I said sadly. "You have married a spineless monster. Imagine that. Two words strung together making no sense, yet not without irony."

"You are not weak! And most certainly not a monster!" she said vehemently, "How can you believe something like that about yourself? This does not make you weak! This is what will give you strength, Erik, to become the man I know you can be! To let go of all the foolish and ignorant things you have ever been told, and become the great father I know you will be, and the husband that I want!"

I stared at her, totally uncomprehending what she was speaking about. Had she become addled at some point, and I had not realized it? I didn't think anything she had said in the past hour made much sense. She spoke of safety, and now she spoke of becoming_ something?_

What else could I become? Had I not changed enough? Was there some other thing I must do in order to have her approval?

As if reading my thoughts, she spoke again.

"You must become something real. You have lived far too long as a ghost. You have obeyed the commands of a morally wicked woman, and worked for a culture that gave you no respect, and would have killed you if given the opportunity. You have been caged, and undoubtedly beaten, first by your mother, then by whoever put you in that cage. And you have not yet escaped. You never will, by continuing to hide behind masks, and by taking everything you want, without ever doing anything yourself."

"You want me to throw away the mask?" I asked with a dangerous fury.

"No. Not unless that is what you want," she sighed. "I wasn't speaking of this," she reached down and took my mask from the floor, "I was talking about the one that you always wear. The one you hide behind, even when this is gone. The shields you bare to the world, because it has made you so bitter."

"Laure...you aren't making any sense," I said stiffly, and shifted my legs so that I could stand.

She grabbed my hand, "I want you to become _something._ Not a ghost. A composer. An architect. Even a magician or illusionist, if that is what you desire. I think my father would love to take you into shipbuilding, but I really don't think that is what you want," she held my hand firmly to her cheek, smiling at me in her unique and tender way, "I want you to be something. For yourself. Not for me, or for Nicolas, although we will both definitely take pride in what you decide to do. As his father, and as my husband. But I do want you to choose _something_ to do with your life. You can't live in absolute boredom for the rest of your life, and you deserve the chance to express your artistry, and your intelligence. You deserve the world, Erik, and I want to help you achieve your dreams, whatever they may be."

I was struck speechless by her moving and unrehearsed speech. She wanted to help me become _something? _I still wasn't sure it made any sense, of any sort. Yet...there was actually _something _stirring inside my heart. There was yearning, and yes, desire, to be what she wanted. Or rather, to be what I wanted. And she said she would be proud of me. Someone would feel proud of me! Yes, she was deliberately torturing me. I could feel the lash of her chain more severely than before, and she was beating me as ruthlessly as anyone else.

She was beating at my resistance...and was making steadfast progress.

"An architect?" I repeated hopefully, "You think I could do that again?"

She smiled, "I think you could do anything."

"In Corsica?"

Her smile faded slowly, and she shook her head, "No. Not here. I think your talents are better suited to Paris. But I will follow you wherever you need to go. I only ask that you wait to travel around until after Nicolas is pursuing his own dreams."

"You never wanted to leave the island," I protested. "You are terrified of traveling."

"I never had you to go with me," she whispered. "I assume I have your protection, and I am quite certain you could defend me without really trying."

Well. She gave me back my self-respect, my ego, and even my dignity with her thoughtless words. Whether she actually believed them or not, or if she said them purely for my benefit, I did not ask. She said them, and that was all that mattered.

She, of course, knew I was always armed. Rarely had I used them since I left Persia. They were almost always on me, and yet, I had willed myself to obey Nadir, almost to a fault. I had killed three men since I returned from Persia. It seemed like such an insignificant number, compared to everything else that I had done. Compared to the stack of bodies that had entered my torture chamber, and yes, I considered those murders as well.

Piangi, Buquet, and some soldier intent on destroying the theater before its completion.

They had not even known my name when I killed them. How terrible, not to know your killer, and for them to be the last thing you ever see.

My face was not something I wanted to see when I died. Hopefully when I did, it would be in Laure's arms, and I hoped she could forgive me for wanting to be there. For wanting her to feel the pain of me dying, the pain in her heart that would certainly occur when I died.

Yes, it was her that I wanted to see as I slipped away.

And I prayed that that time was far, far away.


	53. Expressions of Gratitude

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

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Note: My description of Don Juan is from the Wikipedia website. I just happened to like it, although I don't know if its accurate, or who actually wrote it.

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Erik completed moving the furniture around, as I requested, and without further complaint. Although I did detect a tightening around his mouth occasionally, he somehow refrained from making any further comments.

His outburst had been a welcome and pleasant surprise. He had needed to let go of much of that anger and pain, yet I had not expected him to do it so readily. My words had broken through the barrier, and he had somehow managed to survive. He had cried in my presence, and not been angry with me for comforting him.

In no way did I think our trouble was over. No one could be healed so thoroughly with a few kind words. Yet, I knew that today had been a remarkable move forward on his path to becoming a real man. He never needed intimacy with a woman to achieve it, but he had never realized it before. A shame that he had denied himself life, because his sole focus was finding love. He never should have had to look, it should have been given freely.

"Is this the last of it?" he sighed after he had finished replacing the mattress on his old bed.

"Thats it."

He sank wearily onto the mattress, his gaze finding the paintings still leaning against the wall where I had moved them.

"What are you going to do with them?" he asked suddenly.

"I'm going to treasure them," I said, sitting next to him. "I'm going to display them in every room in the house, so that everyone can see the beauty of my art."

It took all of three seconds for him to begin scowling.

"I will burn every single one of them."

"Erik," I poked him playfully, "I was merely teasing. These are mine, and mine alone."

He turned his head slowly to look at me, a hint of a smile on his lips.

"You truly intend to keep them?" he asked softly, "They mean that much to you?"

"They do," I took his hand in mine, "although I haven't looked at them much the last five years. But the first ten...you were always present in my mind. The only way to get rid of you was to paint. Only then could I look at you, and for a while I was satisfied with my new canvas. Then you would return in a dream, and I would have to create something new."

"They don't look much like me," he said quietly. "I'm not...graceful...not regal. Those paintings...you said before that they weren't of me. I think you were right."

"No. I wasn't right," I grimaced, "I didn't want it to be you. But you and the Phantom...you are one and the same. I...I hated the Phantom, Erik. For a long time. I hated what you had become, because it meant that you would never be who I wanted," I stood and moved a canvas aside, pulling out the one of him standing against the night sky, wearing his red silk robe. One that I had never actually seen him wear, but one I imagined he would look striking in. "This is you. The first one I ever did, and I cried for days after I completed it. I was still pregnant with Nicolas, and you have no idea how much it hurt to see you...and this _is _you...this is _real_. You _are _graceful...and regal. Without even trying, you are by far the most cultured and refined man that I know."

"Have you struck you head recently?"

I frowned at him, "You said I could pay you compliments. I refuse to allow you to belittle yourself each time I make one. I'm trying to stroke your ego. Just accept what I tell you as truth, and don't fight me."

His eyes moved from mine back to the canvas, and he studied it again thoughtfully. I could tell he was not as displeased as he claimed to be by the work, and was in fact intrigued by the mood I had captured of him standing in profile in his old mask, his head slightly angled downward to the ground, and his arms clasped behind his back. He looked as if in prayer, which is what I had wanted. I had no idea what his beliefs were, but I had hoped that with his difficult life he found comfort in God.

Somehow now I knew that he never had.

"You are an artist yourself," I said, setting the portrait back down and moving forward to take his hands in mine. "You have artistic hands," I ran my own over his, and kissed each softly, "you have artistic drive...passion...skill. I know you can't simply think that I didn't see these things when I thought of you. I didn't make them up. This is how I see you, how I have always seen you."

"Thank you," he finally whispered.

I knew how hard those words were for him. Especially the reason behind him saying them. I had paid him a sincere and thorough compliment, about his _appearance_, and he had _thanked_ me.

I smiled warmly at him and rewarded him with a kiss.

"You're welcome."

-----------------------------------

I persuaded him to build me a fire in the hearth after dinner, and we sat across from each other in silence, both of us reading. He had chosen _Salammbo_, because he could find nothing better to read, and I had chosen _Candide_, which I loved.

I peeked glances at him occasionally, and was fairly certain he was doing the same to me. I couldn't help but remember my dream...and the subsequent painting I had done of him near the fireplace. The only thing missing was the wine glass. What had happened after he had dropped the wine glass...was too graphic for me to have painted. I was thankful that I hadn't, since I now knew that Nicolas had been inside there.

I found myself wondering why he had chosen architecture, instead of music. He had lived for many years in the theater, and was a self-described, self-taught composer. Nicolas was the same. Yet, he had not chosen music either. They both had a passion for it, yet neither one had wanted to pursue it as a dream.

"Do you think that even one of our children will become a professional musician?"

I hadn't realized that I had spoken aloud until his book snapped shut, and he leaned forward in his chair.

"I beg your pardon?"

I flushed, having been caught musing when I was supposed to be reading.

"Well, you and Nicolas are both extremely talented with instruments. I've never heard you sing...but Nicolas...he is very gifted. Why neither one of you chose to go into it as a profession, I just don't understand."

He sat back against his chair, his face relaxing into a smile.

"You think we will have a musician?" he asked eagerly.

His eyes had drifted to my stomach, and I felt myself warm under his gaze.

"If I do conceive again, I think it is something to be encouraged. Nicolas...he doesn't really like to play for anyone but himself anymore. He...," I paused for a moment, "I think he stopped playing around us when he found out about you and the theater."

"It must have been difficult, finding out so many things about me at once."

I bit my tongue to keep from telling him that Nicolas still didn't know about the fire, about the final days with Christine. About the murders of two men inside the theater.

"You didn't choose music," I stated simply.

"No. I will only play for myself from now on. My music was not well...received by the good members of Parisian society."

"_Don Juan Triumphant?"_

It was merely a question. Only a name. Yet it caused the terrible scowl to return to his face.

"Yes," he said curtly.

"Can you tell me about it?" I asked gently.

His eyes met mine across the darkened library. "I will _not _sing it."

"I didn't ask you to sing it. Tell me about the story. Why did you write it? What was it about?"

"It was a love story. A tragedy. A travesty. It was...complete shit," he said flatly.

"Liar."

His eyes narrowed at me, "I believe I may have misunderstood what you said, Laure."

"No. I called you a liar. Tell me about your story. Why did you write it? I can only assume it was based off the original Don Juan story. So tell me...why did you choose _him?"_

"It was a nickname," he spoke in a clipped tone. "That was what the gypsy master called me. I didn't realize until much later, what he really meant."

My throat tightened, but I merely nodded, waiting for him to continue.

"Don Juan made a bargain with his friend to seduce Aminta. She resists him...and he falls in love with her, but she doesn't love him in return. Her father finds out about the...liaison, and challenges him to a duel. He wins the duel, but loses Aminta," he sighed and raked his hand through his hair. "Later...he comes upon a statue of her father, and sarcastically invites him to dinner. When the statue arrives for dinner, he takes Don Juan's hand, and drags him into Hell."

"And the assembly did not approve of it?" I asked in surprise, "Surely the content was no more controversial than Faust, or any of the other operas out there."

"It was the music, Laure. The music!" he said loudly, throwing his hands into the air. "Perhaps one day I will play it for you. It will be a very long time, but maybe one day I will let you see."

"I know that you performed in it that night," I said quietly. "Did you write it for Christine?"

"_No._ I was writing it long before I ever met her. I merely completed it during those last few months. I was in such a rage...I had to do something. I wanted to kill her at times, I was so angry, but I could never hurt a woman."

"She was Aminta, and you were her Don Juan?"

"I was _Don Juan_. I was never _hers_. Even while we performed, she was looking for Chagny. I couldn't finish the performance...I had to escape, because the gendarmes were everywhere. So I tried one last time to plead with her...but instead she took away my mask, and the entire theater went into a panic. I knew they would tear me apart, so I cut the rope to the chandelier," he said softly, turning his eyes into the fire. "I did it so I could escape. Even then I hoped I still had a chance to change her mind. Or force her to do what I wanted."

"Love eluded Don Juan because he wasn't worthy of Aminta. That was not the reason you did not win Christine," I said gently. "It wasn't meant to be, because you weren't right for each other. It wasn't your fault, Erik."

A tear slid down his face, and in the quiet between us I heard him whisper, "The white rose and the nightingale."

"Erik?" I asked, when he didn't explain.

"Nothing," he said softly, and held his hand out to me.

I went to him, and accepted his hand, then curled onto his lap and wrapped my arms around his neck. His lips grazed my jaw for a moment, but then he merely rested his head against mine and held me.

"I will play for myself," he whispered, "and I will play for you and our children. That is all. But if one of them should choose music...or even all of them...nothing would make me happier."

"Happy, Erik?" I asked teasingly, "Will you allow yourself to admit that you could be happy one day?"

"This right here," he whispered, "this_ is _happiness."

I felt a swell of love and happiness in my own heart then, and realized I had never believed it myself. I had Nicolas, and my parents, and my art. Yet I had been terribly lonely until now. Until now. Until Erik.

"Thank you," I whispered back.

"You're welcome."


	54. Maximum Opus

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I was not even thinking anything remotely sexual...or trying to anyway with her positioned on my lap, that is, until she placed a kiss against my ear, and murmured in the most seductive voice, "I had a dream about us making love in this chair."

Instantly I was aroused by her words, and the suggestive way she squirmed across my thighs.

"Did you?" I whispered against her neck. "When was this?"

"About eight years ago. You saw the painting upstairs? The one with you sitting here?"

"Eight years ago? You had a dream about me eight years ago, and you remember it?" I asked, reaching up to stroke her hair, "Tell me about it," I demanded, "tell me everything."

"Why don't I show you?" she said, standing up and removing her gown slowly.

I watched with fierce aching as she crossed the library naked and closed the door and locked it, then strolled to the side board and poured me a glass of wine, then handed it to me with a shy smile. She didn't immediately climb back onto my lap, then I understood the forgotten wine glass...

I inhaled the drink, something I never did to good wine, and dropped it dutifully on the floor next to me. She smiled then, and leaned forward to unbutton my shirt, then my trousers. I waited for her command to remove them, but instead she straddled me and found very quickly what she wanted. I think I must have squeezed her ribs too tightly when she slid onto me like that, because she grasped my wrists and moved my hands to her chest.

I didn't mind.

Really.

She didn't either.

"I had this dream," she whispered against my ear, "that you were sitting here waiting for me, drinking your wine. I came into the room, already naked, though I don't really know why, and you told me exactly what you wanted me to do."

"Laure-"

"You wanted me to do this," she ground out, and moved herself against me rather quickly. "And this," she kissed me so deeply I thought she must have been touching my throat with her tongue, "then you carried me to the fire, and had your way with me."

"Indeed?"

I complied again with her wishes, taking a blanket from the settee and tossing it onto the floor. She lay down on it, then watched me as I removed my clothes and joined her.

"Were there any other significant moments of this memorable dream?"

"Again, Erik," she answered coyly, "I must show you."

-------------------------

She had exhausted me. Twice.

We dozed in front of the fire until it was beyond midnight, and I stood up and dressed, then gathered her and her clothing into my arms and carried her upstairs. She smiled sleepily at me, but didn't bother trying to wake up as I put her in bed and climbed in beside her. I removed the mask and lay down, and she turned onto her stomach and threw her leg and arm across me.

I smiled in the darkness, but moved her knee from danger, and placed her hand against my face and stroked it with her fingers.

I'd had no idea how much a touch could heal someone. I had always wanted to know, and now that I did I was almost depressed by how long it had taken to find out.

I thought that if she saw my face, and touched it, I would be ashamed. I would know that she pitied me, and truly found me repulsive.

I had been wrong.

Laure had given me the greatest comfort and joy possible. She gave me hope, and as much as I had tried to fight it, and to fight her, she had broken through.

She gave me pleasure, and I found myself constantly yearning for her.

She gave me Nicolas, and I was suddenly startled to realize I missed him.

I wondered what he was doing in Marseilles, and if he was behaving as his mother had so thoroughly instructed. I doubted it. He was fifteen, and knew nothing of the dangers and madness of the world. He was most certainly finding out about the temptation, especially with young ladies, and I grimaced inwardly at his lack of restraint.

At fifteen I'd had a will of iron on my sexual urges, because I had known even then how pointless it was to have them. I was tempted by Luciana, but would have never given in to attempting anything, even a stolen kiss. It wouldn't have mattered. She would have demanded to see my face, and in all possibility still died.

If only I hadn't been so angry when I had shown her.

If only I hadn't lunged towards her.

Poor Giovanni.

I hoped that now that I had exercised most of my demons, I could finally recall him without feeling so desperately sad. Perhaps I could share some of his wisdom with Nicolas, because he was the closest thing I ever had to a father, and I would always consider him as such.

"Erik-"

I turned to look at Laure, but she was asleep. I waited to see if she said anything else, but she just sighed and smiled, deeply pleasured by her dream.

I turned onto my side and planted a kiss on her shoulder, then pulled her tightly against me and buried my face against her hair. She was warm and pliant in my arms...and dead to the world. I would have continued stroking her flesh, but I knew what it would lead to if I did, and she was already tired.

I should have been after moving furniture all day, and making love to her twice, but I wasn't.

My mind was on Nicolas, and on the things she had said about me becoming something.

About being an architect again.

It had been my dream as a child. I think it may have even been my mother's dream, if she ever had such a foolish thought about me.

I knew that her father had been an architect, and my true father had been a master mason, just like Giovanni. Perhaps that was one reason I was so strongly convinced that Giovanni was my father. Realistically, it was not possible.

Spiritually, nothing else could have been truer.

Yes, designing was in my blood. It had been for ages, and yet I had never built anything worth noticing. Not from the ground up. From paper to finished product.

I had designed the shah's palace, which I had hated.

I had built homes for rich business men, who merely wanted the novelty of me designing their house, because it was unique, and my reputation was so cloaked in mystery.

I had a hand in the Opera Populaire, yet it hadn't originally been mine.

Garnier built it. It was the one work that utterly consumed him. It took years for him to build, and he never would have completed it if I hadn't made such a preposterous offer. I still wasn't sure why he took it, or why I ever made it.

The theater had simply called to me, and I had answered.

Now, I wanted something to call my own.

A building that Nicolas could point to and say, "Look, my father did this."

A building that would stand forever as a testament to my ever having lived on this earth. It would be my next maximum opus. A living, breathing work of art. True, inspired genius, and my new family would be able to say my name with pride, and I would have a reason for feeling so.

----------------------------

This chapter wasn't in my original story line, but I really did like that painting...


	55. Terror

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

I left Erik that morning to go see my mother, and although I tried to persuade him, he refused to come. I think he was worried that she might throw something at him, and he wouldn't know how to react. I realized that after yesterday, and all the things he had finally shared with me, he might like some time alone.

My mother was in the kitchen, and as I opened the door, I was surprised to see her still in her dressing gown. She looked up in surprise as I entered, and blushed.

"Taking advantage of Papa being away?" I asked teasingly.

"There's nothing wrong with me being a touch lazy," she said defensively, "this _is_ my house."

"Its a good thing Erik decided not to come then, isn't it?"

She peered over my shoulder, relief on her face when she saw that I was alone.

"He isn't coming?"

"No," I reassured her.

"I'm going to get dressed now," she said worriedly, and I laughed because I knew I had ruined her carefree morning.

"You know," I called after her, deciding to give her a taste of her own medicine, "Papa might just like you running around half dressed. Maybe you should try it sometime."

I listened as she slammed the door to her room and laughed again. I couldn't recall ever teasing my mother in such a manner, and I found it easier to do now that I had experienced the intimacy of marriage for myself.

She came back downstairs moments later, dressed properly, but still flustered, and opened her mouth to speak to me, when we both heard shouts coming from outside.

We went to the front door, and my heart nearly stopped in my chest at the sight of Erik surrounded by three men, all standing around him in a fighting stance. Lying on the ground at his feet was a fourth man, holding his face, blood pouring out behind his fingers.

Erik's face was grim, his hand wrapped around a weapon, and I was relieved to not see the lasso in his hands, but the small cudgel he had shown me near the cape. Apparently that would be the reason for the bloody nose.

My mother and I turned to each other, horrified, and I wrenched the door open and flew down towards the docks.

"Go back!" he shouted at us, not taking his eyes off the men.

"No!"

The man behind him must have thought his attention was diverted because he lunged towards him, trying to tackle him to the ground. I recognized him as Madame Brounson's husband, and when he charged, two of the other men did as well. Erik fought like an animal as one of them went straight for the mask, and he jammed the cudgel viciously against his throat, causing the man to drop to his knees. He rapped it against Monsieur Brounson's head, and that man went down as well, clutching his head.

The other man who was trying to wrestle with him backed off, and Erik watched him, mockingly gesturing for him to attack.

"You men should be ashamed of yourselves!" my mother said furiously, "Go back to your wives, and leave our family alone!"

"Mind your own business, lady," that man spat, wiping a trail of blood from his eyes, "we're just having a bit of fun."

Erik smiled. Smiled! "Yes, Madame. That's all they wanted. Just a bit of fun," he narrowed his eyes suddenly, "so what are you waiting for? Come and have your fun!"

The man reached down into his boot, and laughed as he pulled a knife out, swinging it wildly in an arc in front of him.

My mother's hand raised to her mouth in horror, and I felt all the blood drain from my face as Erik ducked away from him, then slapped him across the mouth with the cudgel.

"Knives and guns are for children, monsieur," he said, sidestepping another lunge. "I suggest you put that thing to use, unless you'd like to see how they are meant to be operated."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the other men starting to get to his knees. Erik's eyes flickered over to him for a moment, and then back to the man with the knife.

"Laure, go back to the house," he said again. "Take your mother."

"No," I said through frozen lips. I couldn't leave him. I could never leave him.

"Now!" he ordered.

"Don't kill them," I cried. "Please, think about Nicolas before you do anything. _Please_."

The man with the knife tried again, and for a moment I thought he succeeded, but Erik had grabbed his arm and twisted it until he dropped the knife, then spun him around and brought his fist hard on the man's jaw, not bothering to see if he fell to the ground. Erik started towards me, and grabbed my arm, propelling me towards the house.

"I told you to go to the house," he said furiously. "They could have hurt you, or your mother, trying to get to me!"

He turned around to see if my mother was following, but she was still standing staring at the four men sprawled on the ground.

"Mother, come on!" I called, close to tears.

She turned to us, dazed, then started running for the house. She flew past both of us, and Erik started dragging me the rest of the way, not stopping until both of us were inside. He tried to shut the door behind us and go back out, but I grabbed his arm.

"No! You can't kill them," I whispered, "please don't do this."

"I'm not going to kill them," he growled. "I'm going to make sure they don't come back! And stay here!"

He slammed the door behind him, and I tried to open it, but my mother grabbed my arm and pulled me to the window. We watched as he stood near the edge of the yard, shouting something down at them.

I couldn't hear what he said, but whatever it was, they took off, carrying the man with the bloody face.

He stood staring after them for several moments before turning back to the house. I had never seen him so furious. So _angry_. Not visibly anyway.

Usually Erik had a quiet fury, unless something else was bothering him. This time, it was evident why he was upset. He didn't enter the house immediately, and I craned my neck against the window to see him standing on the porch, his entire body shaking.

"Stay here," I whispered to my mother.

"Laure, I think you'd best leave him alone right now," she pleaded with me.

"He's my husband, he would never hurt me."

I opened the door and stepped out with him.

"Are you okay?" I demanded, turning him around to check for any blood.

He didn't stop me, and didn't appear certain what I was doing as I looked him over. They hadn't succeeded in taking his mask, and I was grateful for that. There was no blood on him anywhere, except some across his hand that I didn't think was his.

"Not a scratch on you," I murmured. "Are you hurt _anywhere?"_

"No."

"Sit down," I commanded, pushing him into a rocker behind him.

I touched his cheek, feeling hurt when he flinched from my touch. His eyes were cold and flat, his heart no doubt still racing from the fight.

"What did they want?" I asked nervously, "Is it because of Pascal? Do they think you killed him?"

"They just wanted me. I don't think Etienne's name was mentioned. They were content to settle with seeing what was beneath this," he gestured to his face.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, and wrapped my arms around him.

He sat stiffly in my embrace, not touching me voluntarily. Barely breathing, and feeling cold and hot at the same time all over.

"Do you think they'll come back?" I asked, glancing towards the docks.

"Not until they've healed," he said impassively. "Or without reinforcements."

"We have to get off this island," I shuddered. "We should leave today."

"No. This is your home. Your father's home. Nicolas's home. And I'm not leaving you without protection."

"Erik-"

"I can defend you," he said calmly. "I will protect you with my life."

"I don't want you to!" I screeched at him, _"I won't have this! You are not going to die!"_

I started crying immediately, and his expression was one of bafflement as he dropped his weapon and wrapped his arms around me. I believe it was the first time I had truly cried in his arms. Not the silent tears I had shed for his past, or the tears I had shed when he showed me a tender moment.

This time I _cried. _


	56. Strength in Numbers

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I had never realized a woman could be so frightening. But as I wrapped my arms around Laure, and attempted to soothe her, I felt panic inside me like nothing else I'd ever felt before. I hadn't thought about the way she would feel when I invariably encountered something like this.

I hadn't considered how much she might need me around.

_Utter panic._

Was this the reason normal men joked about marriage and family as if it were the ultimate sacrifice?

Nicolas, I could handle.

But this hysterical woman...I had no idea what to do with her.

I wouldn't describe what she was doing as crying. This was something closer to possession. Her fists beat at my back, her head was pressed against my chest as she sobbed open-mouthed, saturating my clothing with her tears. Occasionally she made some garbled reference to me, or to those '_bastards' _who had attacked me.

My arms were around her, but I was too stunned to offer any words of comfort. I merely held her, stroking her hair and back, but it didn't seem to help.

I lifted my head when the front door opened, and looked at Clare helplessly over her daughter's head. She seemed to understand that I didn't know what to do, and knelt behind Laure and patted her back.

"Its okay, sweetheart. Nobody's going to die. Shhh," she murmured.

Ah. The source of nonsensical consolation.

This was what I had needed to give her? I wasn't sure if I could manage something so...discomfiting. Yet, it seemed to be precisely what she needed, because her sobs soon turned into soft hiccups, and she had ceased hitting me, a fact my kidneys were grateful for.

"Clare," I asked softly, "didn't your husband tell me that you rent your rooms to a couple of dockworkers? Am I mistaken?"

"Yes, he does," she said, her brow pulling together. "Why do you ask?"

"Are they...friendly with Nicolas, and Vincent?" I asked cautiously.

"Yes. Both of them are fond of Nicolas, and Vincent is their employer," she answered, still stroking Laure's back. I almost bolted out of my chair when her hand came to rest on my own across Laure's shoulder.

"What does Vincent have his men doing right now? While he's away?" I prodded, staring at our hands touching.

"Painting the _Donegal_ I believe. Its supposed to take at least two months for that part to be complete," she replied, not meeting my eyes.

She squeezed my hand, and as she did my throat tightened in response.

"Are you okay, Erik?" she whispered.

A long period of silence in which I struggled to remain sitting upright, then, "Yes, I'm fine."

"There's so much blood on your hands," she said timidly.

I looked down to see that they were indeed bloody, especially the one that had held the weapon. I was transferring some of that blood onto Laure's hair and her dress, as well as her mother's hand.

"None of it mine," I assured her, but I removed it from both of them and tried to wipe away what I could with a handkerchief. "What are the names of those boys?" I asked curtly.

"Lucas and Antonio. They are the only Italian boys on the ship," she said warily.

"The men who came here today, were any of them employees?"

"The one who...tried to tackle you, and the one that was bleeding so badly. I assure you, once Vincent returns they will be looking for employment elsewhere. I'm so sorry," she whispered, and I watched in agony as her eyes filled up with tears.

I thought I had been in the clear.

I thought once Laure settled down, I would be fine.

How wrong I was.

---------------------------

After the two women calmed down enough, I made my way to the ship, despite their protests for me to venture no farther than the yard. And despite the irritation I felt at being treated like an incompetent child, I also felt a surge of longing at being fussed over.

I knew that I had ignored the growing tension between the townspeople and myself for too long. No doubt my silence and solitude had invoked all sorts of rumors, and now they had good reason to descend on us all, complete with a mob and pitchforks. I could escape easily enough, but I had two women to think of now. There was no way I could let anything happen to either of them, and there was nowhere to run on this island. The only thing I could do was fight.

I had worked with the crew for a total of three days, and during that time they had not once questioned me about my past, or the mask. They had referred to me as Erik, and while Nicolas was present, and most of the time when he wasn't, they were courteous. Not friendly. Never friendly. But at least polite and civil.

They stopped working when they saw me standing on board. All eyes alternated between the bloody club I held in my hand, and my mask.

"I did not kill Pascal Messere," I boldly claimed. "If there is anyone here who doesn't believe me, and would like to try their hand at forcing my confession, then I invite you to try. If you'd like to take this mask off my face," I raised my weapon and waved it slowly, "I invite you to try."

No one moved.

After several moments, I called out the names of the boys boarding with the Bourne's.

Two young men about Nicolas's age came forward slowly. I recognized one as the boy who had went sailing with Nicolas.

I directed my questions at him.

"You are a friend of Nicolas?"

"Yes, sir," he said nervously.

"Do you have a problem with me?" I demanded.

He glanced down at the cudgel in my hand, "No, sir."

"Did you see what happened there today?"

He nodded hesitantly.

"Is it even odds that four men attack one?" I asked icily, "Do you think Monsieur Bourne would have approved of two of his men attacking his son in law in front of his wife and daughter?"

"No," he whispered. "I'm sorry, sir. By the time we saw what was happening, it was nearly over."

"I have no doubt they will return for me. Possibly with more men this time," I said loud enough for everyone to hear.

I forced myself to look each man in the eyes, even if they weren't looking at me. Most of them were.

"If something should happen to my wife, or Clare Bourne, don't doubt that I will have vengeance on the ignorant fools who are threatening us. I have no problems defending them, however, I am only one man. Those two women don't deserve this. If they want me, they can come for me, but I promise, I won't go without a fight."

A bear of a man, about ten years older than me stepped forward. I tightened my grip on the cudgel and leveled it against my side. He didn't even glance at it as he approached me, and before I could raise it, he stuck his hand out.

"I'm Joshua Flannigan, crew chief while your son is away."

I recognized him as one of the guys who had helped us move guns the first day. I hadn't remembered his thick Irish accent, or how large of a man he really was. I glanced down at his hands, which appeared to have been broken numerous times. They were the size of hams. His nose had been broken often as well, and his face was scarred, though not in the same way as mine. Most women probably thought this brawny man was handsome.

"Are you a pugilist?" I asked slowly, reaching out to shake his hand.

"I was," he said proudly. "I taught young Nicolas a thing or two. The lad's a regular scrapper. Guess he takes after you."

"He does seem to enjoy fighting," I admitted.

"If you have any problems, let me know. These men will do whatever it takes to make Vincent proud. I've been with him on and off for twenty years. My wife's family lives here with my daughter. She passed away some time ago."

"Were you here when Messere was killed?" I asked slowly.

He turned around and barked at his men, "Back to work!"

He waited until they were all occupied before answering.

"Aye. I know what really happened to Laure. Nicolas...told me a little about his mother's time in Persia. So, if you need my help, or theirs," he gestured behind him, "it's yours, man."

"How much did he tell you?" I asked stiffly.

He hesitated a moment, "He needed someone to confide in a couple of years ago."

I felt a light headed for a second, before I asked weakly, "How much do you know?"

"I can't imagine there being anything that I don't know," he said quietly. "However, you fought today like a man, even if you haven't lived like one the last few years. I saw the way you fought them today. I know you've probably been fighting to keep that thing on your entire life. But Nicolas needs his father, more than he needs my opinion on you."

I didn't ask what his opinion was. I could tell he found my lifestyle in Paris distasteful. Try as I might, I couldn't summon the courage to challenge him on it.

"If you can alert me if you hear of any activity tonight, I would appreciate it. You might want to pass along that if I catch anyone near my home, or Vincent's home, they're as good as dead."

"I'll make sure I do that," he said evenly. "Why don't you take Lucas and Antonio and have them watch the house? I'll make sure Vincent knows they were put to work."

"I have enough money that I can afford to hire every man on this ship," I offered. "Perhaps compensation will allow them to ignore me long enough so I can get my family off this damned island."

"No. Not every man has a price."

I didn't argue with him, but I couldn't see why he would help me, even if it was to keep his job.

"I'll see you around then," I said, and gestured for the two boys to follow me.

I put them in Laure's house, and since it was larger I took the women as well as Oman and Nina to the Bourne residence. I could keep a better eye on a smaller house, and the two Italian boys could see the village from where they were.

I could see the docks from where I was, and Oman armed himself as well, something he had not done since he settled here.

"I will guard Madame, Erik," he swore, bowing to me.

I knew he would. He had been well trained for the harem, and even if he hadn't used those skills in a long time, any one who tangled with him would severely underestimate him because of his size.

The eunuch could move quicker than a large man, and undoubtedly would prove to be a worthy opponent.

"Thank you, Oman. If there is anything I can do for your comfort, don't hesitate to ask."

I always offered him comfort, or money. I knew there was nothing that could replace what had been taken from him. He never asked me for anything, and probably didn't even understand why I tried to give him things.

"Of course, Erik."

That was all he knew me by. When I had been in the courtyard of the khanum, he was one of the guards I had frightened by display of fire. I wondered if I still frightened him.

Mostly, I didn't think he really cared. He seemed to be in a constant state of daydream half the time, and I wondered if he had a stash of opium somewhere.

He disappeared into one of the back rooms of the house, and Laure finally came downstairs.

Her mother had sent her up to rest earlier, and I could see that for the most part she had cried, and not slept.

"We should have left when we had the chance," she whispered nervously, peering out the window.

"Everything will be fine," I said firmly.

I leaned against the settee in her mother's living area and pulled her down beside me. She felt cold and stiff in my arms, and her face was incredibly pale.

"Don't worry," I whispered, kissing her cheek. "Your father's men are behind you. They won't let anything happen to you."

"I'm not worried about me," she said sharply. "I'm worried about you."

I didn't reply. There was nothing we could do but wait, and I wasn't about to lie and say that I knew for certain that the rest of the night would be peaceful. Darkness settled on the island, and I held Laure as she began to drift off to sleep in my arms. She tossed her feet up over the edge of the arm rest and laid across my chest, her arms tight around me even in her dreams. Her mother had long since retired for the night, and as it wore on I became more and more restless, almost willing them to come for me. Almost slipping out the door and finding them myself, if only to save Laure from having to watch them drag me from the house.

They never did come. And as dawn finally broke over the horizon, I finally shifted her in my arms so that I could rest as well.


	57. Belonging

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

He was sound asleep when I woke up. I raised off him slightly and looked at his face, relaxed and open mouthed as he slept. For a moment I was able to forget the ugliness of yesterday, but then it all came back.

The fight.

My fear of him being hurt.

Of the entire village descending on us and wielding their own brand of justice. I imagined Nicolas and my father returning to find us all hanging by the neck as they made an example of us. I turned my head as the stairs creaked, and I raised my finger to my lips as my mother carefully descended.

After standing carefully and extricating myself from his arms, I looked up to find his head raised, eyes wide open and watching me.

"Just rest," I whispered. "I'll be in the kitchen with my mother."

He nodded and lay back down, and on impulse I grabbed his feet and put them over the edge of the arm rest, like mine had been. I started to remove his boots, but he shook his head.

"May need them," he said with a sleepy voice before closing his eyes. "Don't leave the house."

"I won't," I promised.

My mother was standing in the kitchen, staring out at the water and the men beginning work on the _Donegal._

"Do you think he might like some breakfast?" she whispered.

"Maybe later. I think he needs rest right now."

She started the coffee and we sat at the table, waiting for blessed relief. Neither one of us were much of a morning person, and we both usually found the best way to wake up was to consume about three cups apiece before we even considered having a conversation.

After drinking a cup, I felt human enough to say, "Papa should be home in a few days. Tomorrow is Saturday. They've been gone nearly a week."

"He's usually back within the week for a trip to Marseilles. Maybe he'll show up today sometime."

I prayed that he would. Then we could take Nicolas away from here. Maybe we could just load the cutter up with all our possessions, and sail straight for...where? Perhaps we'd go directly to Ireland, or England. Nicolas could get a job at one of those shipyards he's always wanted to work at, and Erik could begin contracting and designing again.

I wondered how my father's shipbuilding company would fare. Perhaps he could sell his commissions, and the navy would be able to find someone else to complete the _Donegal. _It was their largest project, and as far as I knew, most of their other work was completed. It would be the perfect time for him to retire, if he could find someone to finish the battleship.

My mother apparently found it too nerve wracking to merely sit, and began preparing breakfast. Nina came in almost immediately and started to help, so I went to see if Erik was awake.

He was sitting up, his eyes closed, but when I moved toward him he turned to stare at me.

"I need to return home and clean up," he said quietly. "Do you want to come with me?"

"Yes, just let me tell my mother. She's making breakfast."  
"We'll be back in time," he said, standing to adjust his clothing.

When I returned to him, he offered me his arm, and we walked to our home in silence. For such a beautiful fall day, it was depressing. Yesterdays events cast a shadow over all the time we had spent together.

We entered through the back door, surprising Lucas who was asleep in the hallway.

"Lucas, you didn't have to sleep on the floor!" I exclaimed.

He shot a look at Erik, and I figured it must have been an order.

"Well, get up, and go on over to your room and change. I think my mother might be able to fix you something to eat before you go back to work."

He disappeared into the library and roused Antonio, who had been fortunate enough to have a chair to sleep in.

Erik took me upstairs and left me at the door to my own room, where I promptly made use of my old bathroom. I half hoped he would find me before I was ready to get out, but he never did. When I went down the hall in my towel, I noticed he was already downstairs, pacing by the door.

Apparently he was intending on keeping his promise not to miss breakfast.

I went to our room and dressed, then met him downstairs. His cologne sent my stomach fluttering as I leaned up to kiss him, feeling better since I was clean.

"Good morning," I whispered.

"Good morning," he said back. "I'm sorry for everything, Laure."

"Its not your fault," I said softly. "We're going to get out of here, and you're going to have another assistant, who you will _not_ pay ten thousand francs a month for, but who _will_ do everything you require of him. And you're going to build something beautiful, and it will be what you want this time, something you will be proud of. Nicolas is going to work for some prestigious shipyard, and design something so wonderful the military will beg him to work for them."

He sighed and embraced me, "I married an optimist."

"Yes, you did."

"How soon will you know if you're pregnant?" he whispered against the top of my head.

I felt a tightening in my breasts when he said it. "Not for a few weeks. Why?"

"I...I just wanted to know," he said calmly.

"Don't talk like that, Erik," I begged him. "I can't lose you, not again."

_Not again._

He tightened his arms around me as I struggled again not to cry. It was not something I gave in to often, but the thought of him being killed terrified me.

"I love you," I whispered, kissing his cheek, his jaw, his lips.

"I will always love you," he vowed, "no matter what happens. If something should...tell Nicolas..."

"_No!"_ I shook him slightly. "No! You are not going to give me any instructions like that. No! I won't listen!"

"It may be the only chance I have," he whispered. "They could come for me. I don't think they'll hurt you, but if they come, you have to stay hidden. Promise me."  
"No. If they come, I will find my father's arsenal of guns, and I will shoot every last one of them!"

"Nicolas needs at least one living parent," he said sharply. "You will obey me, Laure. I won't let you get hurt for my sake. Let them come, and do what they will. But you will be safe."

"How can you just give up?" I cried, my legs beginning to sway unsteadily beneath me. "You can't just give up!"

"I'm not!" he shouted, "I've never given up! This is not the first time in my life I've had this problem, only the first time I've had to worry about someone else's life! I told you that marrying me might actually be worse than being me. If they hurt you because you chose to align yourself with me, I would never forgive myself. I will turn myself in before I let them hurt you."

I started crying again and sank back to a chair beside the library door.

"I don't know enough about you," I whispered weakly, "I don't know nearly enough."

"You know more about me than anyone," he said gently. "More than anyone in this world."  
"I'm not talking about your p-past," I sobbed. "I want to know your favorite color, what else you like besides music, and architecture. Your favorite food," I looked up at him in despair, "I want to know everything a wife should know about their husband. I want to know everything about you."

He stared at me, his mouth parting in apparent shock.

"Why?" he whispered, kneeling on the floor before me.

"I'm supposed to know those things!" I yelled at him. "My mother knows down to the last vegetable what my father will and will not eat. She knows what clothes he will wear, how long he likes his trousers, whether or not he will take a nap on Sunday afternoons so she may have a minute to herself! She knows everything!"

He continued staring at me, a look of confusion on his face, but then he began telling me what I had asked for, in non-sentences, delivering efficiently and unromantically what I wished to hear.

"Blue. Literature, mostly French, although I will read anything. Science, in all its forms. Mathematics. History. Lamb, rather than beef. Chicken, rather than duck. Nothing that comes from water, especially crustaceans. I don't eat many vegetables. My favorite is the potato. I...I don't know my trouser length, but I can ask the man who made them, should I ever see him again. I generally don't take naps, as a rule."

I couldn't deny the hysterical laughter that threatened to come out. It was by far the worst thing he had ever told me, merely because of the way he said it. As if it summed his entire existence up. His eyes narrowed as I doubled over in laughter, but I couldn't help it. Yesterday had been one of the worst days of my life, and he sought to allow me to know him by telling me these things, as if reading them from a list!

"What do you find amusing?" he demanded.

"Why...why blue?" I gasped, brushing at tears that had started spilling across my cheeks. "Why not red? Green? Black, since you wear it so much? Why lamb? Why the potato? Honestly, Erik, these are things I'm supposed to _learn_ about you for the rest of my life, not memorize, as if this were a study lesson!"

He gripped my shoulders tightly and made me sit up straight.

"Blue," he whispered, "when it used to be red. But blue now. Not just any blue," he said, running a thumb across my right eyebrow. "Only the blue of your eyes, on the day we married. When the sea made them look as clear and beautiful as the sea."

All laughter within me ceased.

"Blue?" I echoed.

"Oh, yes," he said solemnly, "definitely blue."

I was stunned. Simply stunned at his words. Nothing else he could have said would have surprised me more.

"I prefer lamb. I don't know why. I suppose I think it tastes better. I like potatoes, because they are versatile."

He caught my hand and pressed a kiss across my wedding band, then linked our hands together. I took his other hand and studied it, the one with his ring on it. He looked as well, and smiled slightly.

"I was terrified that day," he admitted. "I thought I would be struck down for marrying you. Or that I would wake up, and it would all have been a dream."

"Its not a dream," I whispered. "This is real. We are a family. You belong with us, Erik."

He closed his eyes, "I belong..."

"Yes. Yes you do."


	58. Moving

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

After breakfast I asked Laure what she knew about Joshua Flannigan.

"Well, he's been working for my father for a long time," she said thoughtfully. "He's always been really good to Nicolas. Why?" she narrowed her eyes, "Is he becoming a problem as well? Because I would hate for you to have to fight him. For any man to have to fight him."

"So would I," I muttered, thinking of those enormous hands. It wouldn't be fair, because fighting with anything other than your own hands would be considered unworthy.

She stared at me a moment, trying to decide if I were serious or not, then shrugged, "I suppose Papa trusts him more than any of the other men. He's said before that he would have made him chief shipwright if Nicolas hadn't come along, and if Joshua didn't take himself off to England for a fight every chance he got. _Gentlemen_ pay a lot of money to get into the ring with him."

"So why does he come back here?"

"His daughter. He doesn't want to separate her from her mother's family, and he says that they are far more respectable than he is, earning a living like he has for so long. Bare knuckle fighting isn't exactly something most fathers do for a living," she said dryly.

I didn't add anything about my own experiences to her musings.

"I want you to go to the house, and begin packing anything you have that you want to take. We're going to store it on the cutter. If its something we can't get to, make a list, and we can come back for it later," I said slowly, "see if your mother wants to do the same, but don't force her."  
I waited for some sign of defiance, or for her to become angry. Instead, she smiled, "We're really leaving?"

"As soon as your father and Nicolas return. It should be any day," I paused a moment. "You do realize your parents might not come, don't you?"

"They will eventually," she waved her hand dismissively. "If Papa has already started talking of settling in Cherbourg, I wouldn't be surprised if he's already purchased a house. He does things like that without asking, and they usually work out for the best."

"Like our wedding?" I asked softly, pulling her in for a kiss. "Did that work out for the best?"

"Mmm," she whispered as my tongue swept inside her mouth. "Yes, I think so," she said, tilting her head back as I kissed her neck.

"I missed you last night," I groaned against her skin.

"I slept in your arms," she chuckled. "How could you miss me?"

"You know what I mean," I said testily.

I would have showed her, but we were in her mother's living area. Anyone could walk through the door at any moment. I was already close to not caring, so I stepped away from her and gave her a warning look when she tried to kiss me again.

"We have much to accomplish today," I said gruffly. "Go to the house. Take Oman with you, and lock the doors behind you. Don't let anyone inside."

"Where are you going?" she asked suspiciously.

"I'm going to talk to Joshua Flannigan."

-----------------------

One thing I could say about the man: he wasn't afraid of menial jobs. He was on his hands and knees with the rest of the men, slapping paint onto the deck right along with them. He didn't look up when my boots stopped in front of his face.

"Any problems last night, then?"

"None," I replied coolly. "Have you heard anything from the village? Are they plotting anything?"

"Not that I can tell," he grunted. "The fight yesterday seems to have quelled them for now. I would get out while you still can. Brounson has a concussion, the other crew member, Morrow, has a broken nose. The two men from the village each have several teeth missing, and one nearly has a crushed windpipe."

"Like I said, four to one isn't fair odds."

He glanced up at me for a moment, and looked at the ever present weapon in my hands.

"I've never used a bloody club before in a fight," he muttered.

"With your hands, why would you need one?" I said impassively.

He laughed for a moment, "Aye. Right you are."

"If I can get Laure to pack up a few things, do you think a few of these men would help us load as much stuff as possible onto the cutter. Vincent should be back by tomorrow, if he only stayed to talk to that architect for one day."

"Just let me know when," he replied, still intent on painting.

I left him there and went to the cutter, inspecting it carefully. There were four cabins below deck, a small galley, a storage area, and another chamber for the crew. I estimated the ship could run decently with four men, and that was a skeleton crew. The only furniture was a desk and chair in the captain's cabin, so whatever Laure decided to bring would fit. As long as it didn't weigh us down too much.

At the house, Laure was in the library, carefully filling a chest with various trinkets, wrapped in linen. She glanced up at me and smiled, "No bruises. I guess Joshua didn't want to fight you."

"So it would seem," I said wryly. "Is there anything I can do?"

"I need at least three crates of some sort. Large enough to put my paintings in. And something for my supplies as well. I'd like to take the furniture from our room, and from Nicolas's room. All the linens in the house, and whatever else will fill up the cutter."

"There are four cabins. I'll stock them with the necessary furniture, and store everything I can in the storage area before I begin filling up anything else. What about your chairs...the dining room set?

"Those belonged to my parents. I suppose we'll have to see what they'd like to do with them. Actually, all the furniture came from them, in one way or another," she said, frowning.

"If your father will allow me, I'll buy everything in this house, including the house."

"You would?" she smiled at me, "But we're leaving."

"That doesn't matter. They've paid your bills long enough. I think its time I did those things, and gave them a little back for their trouble."

She sighed, "I'm trading one debtor for another. I feel like a parasite."

"Don't call yourself that," I said quietly, kneeling beside her. "You're my wife. I'm supposed to do these things."

"I miss Nicolas," she whispered, lowering her head. "I can't believe I've just been so carefree the last week. I've acted like I haven't given him a second thought."

"I miss him too," I said softly. "I didn't know it was possible, to feel so strongly about someone so quickly."

She returned to her task, putting a vase inside that was covered in linen, then a small statue of a woman in a dress. I watched her, looking at all the things she was keeping, until I finally asked where she had gotten them.

"Nicolas got me most of these things, while he was traveling with my father. Papa and Mother went on a trip a few years ago, and got me a few things as well. I don't think I've bought any of this for myself."

"Are you nervous at all about leaving?" I asked gently.

"Yes," she sighed. "I'm terrified of being out there on the water, unprotected."  
"Not unprotected," I said, taking her hand in mine. "Never that."

She smiled, "Vulnerable then."

"Not even that. You're safe with me."

I put my arms around her, to prove that she was. Safe with me. Safe from me, or rather, the other person I had been. I kissed her forehead swiftly, then proclaimed it was time to stop dawdling. She laughed and resumed packing, and I went in search of three crates. Large enough for her paintings.


	59. The Secrets of Nicolas

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

I was grateful when my mother came over to help me decide what to take. She went through the kitchen, directing Nina to the dishes, cookware, all table linens and anything else she could find, as well as declaring that all food should be stocked on board. Then she proceeded to find every piece of furniture that needed to be taken, upstairs as well as downstairs, and helped me pack the things from the room full of Nicolas's old toys, my paintings of him, as well as the cradle and the rest of his nursery furniture.

Erik took all my paintings and stored them on board, as well as my supplies. I was exhausted by the time we went into Nicolas's room to look through his things. My mother helped me carefully pack the model ship he had done, and started on the sail plans that he sketched in his spare time.

Erik came into the room just as we were removing his clothes from the armoire.

"Going well?" he asked from the doorway.

"This is horrid!" I groaned. "I never realized we had so much junk! And to have to try and move in one day!"

"At least you have plenty of help now. There are crew members moving beds into place as we speak, as well as anything else you ladies have graciously left in the hallway," he said dryly.

"We need the furniture from this room," I said, my voice muffled under the clothes in my arms that prevented me from seeing anything.

Suddenly, my cargo was lifted from me and placed on the bed where my mother was carefully storing things into yet another trunk.

"The rest of this going?" he gestured at the bottom of the armoire where numerous bits of clothing had accumulated.

"Yes."

He leaned down to scoop the clothes out, and when he did, several pieces of paper fell onto the floor. I reached for them at the same time he did, but we both stopped as we stared at the clippings.

_Opera Ghost Terrorizes Again_

_Entire Ballet Corps Goes Missing_

_Phantom Blamed for Yet Another Murder_

He stared at them a moment before he picked one up, scowling as he scanned the contents.

"I had no idea...," I whispered.

"I did," he said quietly. "He told me the day we went sailing. I didn't realize he kept them."

I looked at several of the headline, and frowned. "This stuff sounds like they just tried to make it up. Listen to this: _Phantom Sighting; Ghost has Glowing Head."_

My mother snorted behind us, and I glanced up to see Erik chuckling as well.

"They weren't seeing me," he smiled slightly. "There's a rat catcher that lives down there. He's possibly more horrid than I am, as far as looks go. I doubt he's bathed in a century, and he always carries around a torch, which makes his wild looking white hair almost glow in the darkness of those tunnels. He's rather demented, but completely harmless."

"I didn't realize you had a neighbor," I said sarcastically. "And you aren't horrid!"

"Oh, he doesn't like me," he said, bemused. "I used to have a cat, and he _hates_ cats."

"He likes rodents, but can't tolerate felines? Why?" my mother asked, turning to stare at us both.

"They eat his pets," he said stoically. "He doesn't turn them in. They are his family."

"That's disgusting."

"You should smell him," he muttered, then turned back to the news clippings.

He gathered them all up, glancing at them all as he went.

"There's nothing here about the fire..."

My heart nearly stopped when he turned to look at me. I knew then, that I had to tell him. Before Nicolas returned, so he would have time to think of an appropriate response. I wished that yesterday hadn't happened, and I still had all the time in the world to reveal this to him. Which, I assured myself, I would have to do eventually anyway.

"No," I whispered, looking into his eyes. "He doesn't know about that yet."

The pages slid from his hands, and I saw his face fall as well. Disbelief. Hurt. Agony. Those emotions all entered his eyes, and I felt lower than the floor as he stared at me in pained, mute horror.

"Please tell me you're joking," he said in a soft and almost deadly voice. "Tell me, now."

"I...I'm sorry," I said quietly. "He doesn't know."

I looked at his hands, and noticed them trembling. His eyes dropped to them, then closed altogether. "He _has_ to know. He _must have known!_" he said emphatically. "I can't...no...he had to know Laure."

"No. I'm sorry. He doesn't know. I wanted it to be your choice. I didn't realize until about a week before the wedding. He hadn't read all of Nadir's letters."

He glared at me. "You've known for nearly two weeks?"

I nodded dumbly, tears beginning to fill my eyes. "I didn't want to disrupt the ceremony."

"He told me he _loved_ me," he said with quiet fury. "He told me that, and he didn't know everything about me! _How could you do this to me?"_

I vaguely saw my mother scurry out of the room, carrying a load of clothing with her.

"I wanted you to become close, without the rest of this!" I gestured to the pile of clippings. "He's learned everything about you through another man's point of view. I want him to know _you_, not something written in a letter, or in a _news article_!"

"_Look at them!"_ he thrust one in my face. "He's underlined every single mention of me, and every thing they've said I ever did wrong!"

I looked down at the one he was holding, seeing several pencil marks across the pages, as well as questions beside the margins.

_Is this him?_

_What is he?_

_Does he really exist?_

_What does he have to hide?_

"Oh, God," I whispered, looking at him. "I'm sorry, Erik. I had no idea..."

"He's been getting a newspaper from Paris. Are you certain he doesn't know about the fire?" he asked angrily.

"No. No, I'm not certain of anything. I didn't know about the newspaper," I said weakly.

"Where would he get them? Do they sell them here?"

"I don't think so. If they do...they're very old once they arrive," I said, near tears again.

Why had I done this? Why hadn't I just told Nadir to tell Erik the truth? Why hadn't I told Nicolas?

"Its barely been four months since the fire. I doubt he's read a new one," he muttered, giving me an icy glare. "You had better pray that he doesn't hate me when I tell him. I won't forgive you if you've caused him to believe something false about me, and he thinks I lied to him."

Tears fell from my eyes then, as hurt and pain knifed through me.

"Erik-"

I reached for him blindly, but he pulled away from me and stood up, stepping away from me on the floor.

Without another word, he left me.

---------------------------------

I couldn't say how long I cried before my mother returned to me. I couldn't say how long I cried once she did.

I felt empty inside, hurt by his words, and by my own stupidity. I was angry with myself for not telling the truth. I felt ashamed for lying to everyone, even if I had done it to protect them.

"Where is he?" I asked through swollen lips and raw eyes.

"He's still loading things. Just let him calm down, sweetheart. He'll come around. They always do."

"He hates me," I whispered. "He said he's never going to forgive me, if Nicolas doesn't forgive him."

"He doesn't hate you," she said soothingly. "He loves you. Just let him settle down. He'll see that you were right after all."

"No," I said sharply. "I wasn't right. I should have just told them the truth!"

"Come on," she said gently. "Get up, let's get you cleaned up. We still have a lot of work to do. This will sort itself out, but right now, we don't have time for it."

I should have been angry that she wouldn't allow me to wallow in self pity. I should have been furious that she dismissed my feelings so readily.

I wasn't.

I was grateful for something to occupy me, and as I left the room, Joshua Flannigan was coming down the hall to take Nicolas's furniture.

"Laure, are you okay, dove?" he asked in concern.

"Oh, yes," I said dramatically. "I'm just emotional about the move, thats all. Excuse me."

I hurried past him until I could reach my old bedroom, completely empty except for the small table, where my orchid was still sitting. I ignored it and went into my bathroom, my mother close on my heels as she wiped away what she could of my tears, and fixed my hair. She pressed a cold washcloth to my face until I was able to breath without bursting into tears again.

"Better?"

"Yes," I whispered. "Thank you."

Someone began pounding on the door to the room, making us both jump. We stared at each other for a moment before we rushed to it.

Erik was standing on the other side, his face white with rage...or was it fear? His hand trembled as he pointed down the hallway, and he looked away.

"Your father is here. You'd better go see what he has to say."


	60. The Missing

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I hadn't known I could be so furious with her. I hadn't considered that I could be as angry with her as I had been with Christine. I felt betrayed. _Laure _had betrayed me. She had known that Nicolas didn't know about the fire, and had not told me. The careful and delicate bond between father and son was in peril.

Vincent's timely arrival had confirmed it.

She hurried past me and flew down the stairs, and I could hear her.

"Where is Nicolas?" she demanded. _"Where is he?"_

Her mother looked at me with despair, and ran by me as well.

"Calm down," he said soothingly. "He's going to be fine."

I walked mechanically down the stairs to where they were clinging to him.

"Papa, please tell me," she begged him. "Where is he?"

"I'm not certain," he said uncomfortably. He glanced back at me, his mouth tightening, "But I believe he went to Paris."

"_Paris?"_

Laure turned to look at me, her face frozen in horror. Her eyes filled with fear.

"By himself?" she whimpered.

"Yes," Vincent said. "I've been trying to get back here for days. He left almost as soon as we arrived, but I didn't realize where he had gone until I returned. I had hoped he was coming here."

As it sank in her mind that he was indeed gone, I felt a flash of longing, to take her in my arms, to hold her. Tell her it would be alright. I still hadn't figured out how.

My heart felt as hers must feel. I felt lonely again. Cold, inside and out.

I was afraid he would be hurt. I was worried that he might not return. I prayed that he didn't hate me, because it meant I must keep my vow not to forgive her.

The magical week was over. Reality had finally returned to me, bringing with it the loss of my newfound confidence in my marriage, in my wife.

In myself.

I felt again that I was not meant to have such things like love, family, support.

Were they gone now? Forever?

_Was Nicolas?_

"We have to find him," she whispered, and turned to me. "Please, Erik. Take me to Paris, if thats where he's gone."

I stared at her, unable to think of anything to say.

"The cutter is already loaded, lets just go find him," she pleaded.

"The cutter?" Vincent asked, then, as if seeing for the first time the disarray of the house, he glanced around. "Whats going on?"

"Oh, Vincent, it was terrible!" Clare cried. "Two of your men, and another couple from the village picked a fight with Erik."

"My men?" he demanded.

At that moment, Joshua Flannigan appeared in the door behind him.

"Aye, Vincent. I've already taken care of their jobs for them, if you don't mind."

"Who?" he demanded, going to stand in front of him. "Which men?"

"Bourne and Morrow, sir."

"Were you planning on leaving, Erik?" he asked, turning around to look at me.

"When you returned with Nicolas," I said quietly. "I was going to take Laure and Nicolas with me."

I met Laure's eyes for a moment, and saw her regret, her wordless apology. She was pleading me with those eyes of hers, to hold her. To comfort her.

I couldn't bring myself to do it.

She stepped towards me, and stubbornly, I stepped back, shaking my head.

"I can spare you a crew that can take you to Marseilles. It shouldn't take as long in that ship. Its twice as fast as the steamer. If you hurry, you could make it in a day and a half."

"How long from Marseilles to Paris?" Laure whispered, no longer looking at me.

"Three days, if we travel by train. Weeks, by carriage."

"Take me," she pleaded, still not looking me in the eyes.

"I suggest you gather your things," I said coldly, and strode from the house.

Within half an hour, she was shut in a cabin by herself as I helped the small crew manuever the ship towards Marseilles. Towards Nicolas, and away from the wonderful and beautiful memories we had created in Ajaccio. Her parents stood on the shore, slowly fading from sight as I took their daughter, and went to look for my son.

--------------------------

I know this will surprise you...but this has always been in my story line. Long before I ever completed Defying the Heart, this story was always bound for Paris. After all, its only been a few months since the fire. Erik still has dirty laundry at home. There will be quite a bit centered around it, and I can tell you it will be vastly different than Defying...this story is a long way from being over, and may have a sequel...no promises.


	61. Nervous Tension

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

I had hoped he would not ignore me for the entire trip. When he finally came into the captain's chamber, I sincerely wished he had.

Or at least chosen another bedroom.

He stared at me before closing the door, "There aren't any other rooms," he said quietly. "The crew need somewhere to sleep, and we didn't take any hammocks for their chambers."

I nodded and turned away from him to face the wall. It was nearly three in the morning, and I hadn't been able to sleep at all. I was worried about Nicolas, and heartbroken over Erik.

Perhaps he hadn't ever loved me.

Maybe I had told him far too soon, and he had merely felt obliged to say it back.

Instead of lying on the bed, he sat down in a chair and removed his boots. I heard him sigh, and knew he wanted to lie down. I was too distraught to say anything, fearing he would turn away from me again. I kept my back to him, feeling as stiff as an iceberg when he finally slid into bed next to me, fully clothed. I felt his trouser leg touch my bare foot briefly, before he moved his leg away from me. The ship rocked gently on the waves, and I gripped my side of the bed to keep from touching him.

Silent tears slipped down my cheeks. My nose ran, my mouth watered, and I let it all flow, determined not to let him see me cry.

I wanted to tell him I loved him. I wanted to beg him not to hate me.

The words were in my mouth, twisted inside my mind along with the weight of fear, the measure of dread, and pain of wanting him to hold me.

I felt as if I would vomit from the swaying ship, from the turmoil in my head and stomach. From the loneliness and ache in my heart.

Lying next to him, not touching, not speaking was pure torture.

It must have been as distasteful for him.

In ten minutes, he was out of bed, pulling his boots back on. He left the room without saying anything, and in such haste I thought he would stumble. I heard him mutter something about a mistake, and I could no longer deny the tears that wanted to fall.

---------------------

I never fell asleep, and finally got up two hours after he left. It was almost dawn, and I dressed and slipped from the room, heading towards the back of the boat to catch the sunrise. Erik barely glanced at me from his position near the helm, and I walked past him in the darkness to sit quietly at the stern.

The sun slipped over the horizon to my right, more beautiful and glorious than it had been when I seen it a few days ago with Erik. With nothing in the sea to halt its capacity for brilliance, it captured me in its rays, helping ease the heartache I felt. I huddled against the wall, trying to ward off the chill despite the ever rising sun. I began making out the men on the ship, and recognized Antonio and Lucas, as well as Joshua, and another two men I didn't recognize.

I nearly groaned when Joshua spotted me and started towards me. The last thing I needed was to anger Erik any farther by speaking to another man.

"Good morning, Laure," he said heartily.

"Good morning," I returned pleasantly. "How is your daughter doing?"

"Oh, she cried when I told her I was leaving again, but I promised I wouldn't be gone as long. Any idea where Nicolas might have carried himself off to?"

"Paris," I said softly. "At least, thats what we're hoping."

I went to stand, and he offered his hand to help me, which I took.

"He'll be fine," he murmured, giving me a smile.

I removed my hand from his, "Thank you for your kind words. Excuse me, I really need to see what can be done for breakfast."

"Let me help you," he said, offering me his arm. "I believe your maid is on board. Let one of us know if you ladies need any water for boiling, things of that nature. You're a wee lass. We can't have you hurting yourself."

I stared at him for all of three seconds before turning without his assistance to make my way to the galley. Joshua Flannigan was a shameless flirt. Harmless, but shameless. I knew he had taught Nicolas more than how to take a swing at someone.

He certainly hadn't learned anything about stolen kisses from me.

Erik was glaring at me when Joshua followed me downstairs. I felt his eyes on me, and the icy daggers he shot at the back of my head.

I turned to Joshua when I was out of his sight.

"You know, I think I'm going to lie down. Why don't you see if Nina needs help?"

I bolted through my door and leaned against it weakly. In no time at all I heard Erik thundering down the stairs, and I leapt away from the door as he opened it.

"Where is he?" he said softly.

"The galley, I think," I said woodenly.

Erik stuck his head back out into the hall for a moment, and we both heard Joshua roaring with laughter from the kitchen.

"I think it might be best if you stayed inside this room for the remainder of the trip," he said menacingly. "I think that might be best for everyone, especially you."

"Don't you dare threaten me," I whispered through bloodless lips. "You have no right."

_"I have every right!"_ he whispered furiously. "You are _mine_, and you had best not forget it!"

"Go away, Erik," I said venomously. "I think you've proved enough what an utter ass you can be. I haven't done anything, with _any _man, except you! If your lack of trust extends to this field as well, then just sleep on the deck for all I care!"

"I didn't have a reason not to trust you, until yesterday, did I?" he challenged. "I had every belief you were willing to share everything with me, and not keep secrets. Not lie. Not manipulate. I have no idea what you thought to gain by keeping this from Nicolas. I..."

"I gained you!" I shouted, interrupting whatever other garbage he wished to spew at me.

He snorted, "And what a great prize I am!"

Unable to take the torment a moment longer, I took his hand. Even if he turned me away, I had to at least try. Surely he couldn't hate me that much, just from keeping something from him?

"I think you are the greatest prize," I whispered. "Please don't shut me out. Please forgive me. I can't bear this. We were doing so wonderful," I stepped closer as his eyes flickered for a moment, revealing some hidden desire. A longing to make things right. "I wanted to marry you. I've always wanted this. _Us_. Please...I'm sorry..._please _forgive me."

I felt the grief in my heart as he closed his eyes, and I saw how much he was hurting as well. He hadn't shown me anything other than coldness, other than distance. I thought I had lost him to the blackness of his mind. I thought he would hate me, because he had trusted me, and I had let him down.

"I won't ever keep anything from you again," I said, crying softly. "Please don't hate me. I love you. I can't take anymore."

I didn't wait any longer for him to close the distance between us. I wrapped my arms around him, hoping he didn't push me away again. He was stiff in my arms for a moment, before he buried his face against my neck, sighing as if in contentment.

"I love you," I said again. "I can't stand having discord between us. It hurts far too much."

"Laure-"

"Don't say anything," I whispered. "Don't ruin it. Whatever happens in Paris is in the future. You have no way of knowing how Nicolas will react once you speak with him. I'm the one who lied to him. If he is mad at anyone, it will be me."

"Laure...tell me where you think he's going to go when he gets to Paris," he said quietly.

I leaned back to look at him for a moment, "Well, I suppose the theater."

He hesitated a moment, and I saw real fear in his eyes.

"What did Nadir tell you about my home?"


	62. A Mother's Worst Fear A Father's Too

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Erik

I watched the blood drain from her face as she thought about what I said. I hadn't intended to tell her what made me so nervous about Nicolas going to Paris. About him entering my home, alone, naive, defenseless. I knew for a fact that Chagny had almost met his end inside those dark walls. The trap he had fallen into was only one of many.

My worst fear was that Nicolas would stumble into that mirrored room.

I had to blame someone, and for the moment, I couldn't bring myself to blame the only person responsible.

Me.

"What did you build?" she finally whispered.

"You know exactly what my morbid mind is capable of," I gritted out. "Why don't you use your imagination? What does a man like me do, when he wants to keep the world away from him?"

Her knees swayed beneath her, and I caught her arms before she could slide to the floor. I remembered all too clearly what she had said only days before:

_You...you don't know what its like to nearly lose him yet, Erik. And I pray that you never do. It is the most awful and horrible feeling in the world. I would die if something ever happened to him. I couldn't bear living without him._

If something did happen to him, I would be the one needing to beg for her forgiveness. I wouldn't though. I would never beg her for something like that, because if he died, it would be unnecessary. Nothing could ever replace Nicolas. Especially not me.

"Please tell me there isn't a torture room," she moaned, her eyes rolling back in her head. "I'm going to be sick, Erik. I'm going to vomit."

She began sobbing hysterically when I picked her up to carry her above deck. I passed Joshua, who glanced down at her in my arms before moving out of my way. I carried her to the stern just in time for her to lean across the railing and make good on her promise of sickness. I held her hair back as she retched into the sea, feeling like hanging my head right along with her.

"Leave. Me. Alone," she whispered, trying not to gag again.

"I can't," I said softly.

She glared at me, and dry heaved against the railing. Nina brought me a towel soaked in water, and I pressed it against her mouth, cleaning up what I could, and letting her do the rest.

"Are they all staring?" she whispered.

"No," I lied, and turned around to glare at them all until they were occupied.

"I need to sit," she said weakly, and would have fallen backwards if I hadn't caught her again. Her knees failed her, and she slumped to the deck in a pitiful mess of hair, gown, and sickness. The wind had carried much of it back onto her, and to me.

She tried to wipe away more of it with the towel, but it was beyond saving. I barked an order for another towel, and immediately Nina appeared, her face impressively calm as she wiped away peach colored vomit from Laure's face.

"Are you okay, Madame Sagesse?" she asked, casting a nervous look at me.

Laure mumbled, but didn't attempt to make a coherent sentence. Nina pulled several pins from somewhere in her apron and pulled Laure's hair away from her face, then cleaned what she could of the dress.

"Do you feel well enough to change your dress, Madame?"

"No. But I _really_ want to," she said wearily. Her eyes closed, and she leaned her head back against me. I stroked her cheek with a trembling hand, wishing I had not said anything. Wishing I had never been to Paris. To Persia. I wished I was a normal man, and I didn't have a graveyard of skeletons in my closet.

"Would you like me to carry you back downstairs?" I asked softly.

"Please."

I scooped her up gently, trying not to jostle her around too much. Joshua was staring again, and I glared at him until he disappeared from my view. Nina helped me change her out of her dress, and I laid her across the bed on her stomach, moving a pail close to her head so she could be sick in the privacy of her cabin if she needed to. I laid down behind her, rubbing her back until she drifted off to sleep. I tried to ignore the fact that she had been crying, and didn't want me to hear.

I tried to ignore the breaking of my heart, because I knew that this time, I really deserved it.

She woke up that afternoon, groaning as she held her head in her hands. She turned to look at me.

"Have you been here the entire time?" she muttered.

"Yes."

"It wasn't necessary. I don't know what came over me," she said, then started crying again.

I pulled her into my arms, hoping I could give her some comfort. Hoping she didn't find me completely repulsive.

"Please, God, let him be safe," she whispered against my chest. "Please, keep him safe. Let him be safe."

Silently, I prayed with her, hoping somehow, those words would reach His ears. If He wanted to punish me, then let it be me. But not Nicolas.

"Is there any way he could have gone somewhere else?" she whispered. "Or that he could have made it safely inside?"

"I...I don't know where else he would have gone, unless he doesn't want us to find him. He may have gone to England, for all we know. But if he wanders around the theater...," I said tightly, unable to bring myself to say anything that would further her pain and fear.

_If he wanders around the theater, he is certain to find the mirrored room._

_He is certain to find the iron tree._

There were other dangers as well, some I hadn't even considered. The structure was damaged severely from the fire. There was no telling how secure the heap of rubble was. I had not set foot out the door of my home until the day Nadir showed up, proclaiming I had a son.

How fitting it was, that Nicolas was the reason I had left, and was now the sole reason I returned.

Laure started praying again, and I held her as she did, merely grateful that she allowed me to. How quickly our roles had reversed. I had been angry with her...until Vincent had shown up.

Then I had merely been angry with myself, and terrified to let her know why.

I hadn't wanted her to think about what was ahead of us in Paris.

I hadn't wanted to think of it myself.

"You never answered my question," she said. "Is there a torture room?"

"Yes. But it isn't exactly like the one I built for the khanum," I said softly. "This one can only be activated manually. It doesn't self operate."

"What else is there?"

"Water traps," I managed, closing my eyes. "Traps that will merely hold a person until I check them. Some actually are a maze themselves, where the person can wander around for hours, not knowing they've ever entered a trap."

"Do you think he can make his way to your home?"

I wanted to tell her that it was no longer my home, but I wasn't sure if that would be the truth anymore. She may not want me, after this.

"Yes, especially now that the entrances are in such disarray. I never bothered to check them after the fire, so I'm not certain what is visible, and what isn't," I answered quietly.

"D-do you t-think he could already be..."

"No!" I said sharply. "He's not. Don't say it! Don't even think it."

I hauled her against me tightly, both of us trembling as we considered what the last few days could have meant for Nicolas. If Vincent left Marseilles the same day Nicolas had, then that put Nicolas getting into Paris today sometime. I shook with fear and anger.

I felt anger...at Nicolas! How could he have done something so foolish?

Her arms finally wrapped around me. They had been lying limply at her sides, and now she was clinging to me in desperation as she cried again. I held her for what felt like hours. Until she was asleep again, and I was finally able to lay her back against the bed.

I slipped from the room and ordered Nina to find something light for her to eat, then went to the deck. I was astounded to see the coastline of France ahead of me.

Joshua approached me, "Is she okay?"

"She'll be fine. Just frightened herself, thinking about the boy."

I didn't need to add my own fear.

"We made good time. This is some ship Nicolas built. I hadn't expected to arrive until morning, but we should be there within the hour."

I nodded then went back downstairs to wake Laure so she could eat something before we reached the shore. She protested for only a moment before eating a piece of bread and taking a sip of coffee.

"Do you think a train will leave tonight?" she whispered.

"Probably in the morning. I'll check though."

"Don't leave me," she pleaded, grabbing my hand. "Please don't leave."

I hesitated a moment, "I'll see if Joshua will go, then. Okay?"

She nodded and sank back against the bed. "Thank you, Erik."

I didn't say anything. Thankful was the last thing she should have felt for me.


	63. Only in the Darkness

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

I couldn't bring myself to comfort him, any more than he could me. Holding each other was easy. Murmuring soothing words to please each other was pointless. Indeed, I felt if I uttered a single thing about my belief that Nicolas would be anything other than safe, that I would be condemning him to a fate he didn't deserve.

I couldn't blame Erik for making his home a veritable fortress. I couldn't blame him for resurrecting a torture chamber to keep men away from him. Not after everything he had been through.

But I couldn't bring myself to tell him it was alright.

Not until I had Nicolas back in my arms. Not until I was certain my son was safe.

Because if he was anything other than safe...I dared not think about what that meant for my husband, and my marriage.

It would all be over.

I would never be able to forgive Erik, or myself, if something happened to Nicolas.

The words hung between us as we clung to each other, waiting for Joshua to return with the news of the train schedule. I didn't think we would catch one tonight, but I could hope. And pray.

I had never done so much praying in my entire life.

I became aware that I had soiled Erik's clothing earlier, and browbeat him into changing his clothes. He hadn't wanted to let me go, even for that, but he'd reluctantly disengaged himself from me long enough to find something else to put on.

I rinsed my hair out in the unused pail, filled with icy cold water. It stung my skin as I washed what I could of the breakfast I had yesterday morning from my hair. I wasn't sure if I could ever eat a crepe again.

"Could you find me a dress?" I asked, feeling weak.

"Which one?" he replied, buttoning his shirt.

"I don't care. Nothing peach..."

He handed me a green dress, taking the towel from my hand and drying my hair for me. I sat as he brushed it out, feeling far to weak to argue, and surprised when he braided it and tied it at the end.

"Where did _you _learn to braid a woman's hair?"

"I've never braided hair," he said defensively. "I've braided ropes."

"Is there much difference?" I asked softly.

"Not really," he said, his hands resting on my shoulders.

I leaned forward and poured myself a glass of water, swishing it in my mouth, then spitting into the pail until I could no longer taste my former breakfast.

"I'm sorry about what I insinuated...about Joshua," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to imply that you were a loose woman."

I glanced at him a moment, then nodded.

"Its alright. I expected it as soon as he spoke to me this morning."

His eyes filled with tears, and he lowered his head in shame, "You shouldn't have to put up with me."

"We'll sort this out later Erik. I...," I turned away from him, unwilling to let myself shed any more tears over what was still unknown. "I just want to find Nicolas."

"We will," he promised, taking my hand cautiously.

He didn't say anything else. I couldn't help but wonder in what condition we would find him in.

Erik led me to the deck so Nina could clean up our room. She threw our clothing over the railing, declaring that there was no way she could clean it properly on such a small ship. I didn't argue, and neither did Erik.

We waited for Joshua as he climbed back up to the deck, and he looked at us and gave a slight shake of his head. I would have fallen if Erik hadn't been there.

"When?" Erik asked hoarsely.

"Tomorrow at seven."

Joshua left us alone on the deck, under the dark Marseilles night. I sat down onto the deck, realizing ironically that it was where we had been married.

"Do you want me to arrange for a hotel room?" he asked softly.

"No. I feel closer to Nicolas, right here."

He sighed and sat down next to me. "Do you want to be alone?"

"No," I said, and took his hand.

He leaned against the mast and pulled me closer to him. I leaned against his warm body, grateful for his strength, for his support. I had roughly three days left...before my fate was revealed. Before I found out what, if anything, had happened to Nicolas. I should make the most of them.

But I couldn't summon the strength for desire.

Not even for Erik.

We sat there for a couple of hours, until he finally dragged me off to bed. I let him hold me in the darkness, but didn't attempt to lead him on, or stir his interest. He didn't try, and I was grateful.

It wouldn't have been right.

"I love you," he whispered, and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "No matter what happens, I want you to know that I do love you. I'm sorry for everything."

In the darkness, I was able to say it back.


	64. A Kiss Denied, is a Kiss Denied

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I didn't sleep for long, and woke Laure up as soon as I moved off the bed.

"What time is it?" she said, sitting up quickly.

"Nearly five. Why don't you lay back down?"

"No," she said, and swung her legs over the bed. "I want to be there early."

We both changed in the pre-dawn light, not looking at each other as we stripped down and dressed. I turned away from her and removed my mask, which I had slept in all night. I wiped my face down with a cool cloth and replaced it.

When I turned back around, she was staring at me, her eyes unreadable in the dim room.

I could hear someone moving around in the hall and opened the door to reveal Joshua's large frame, sneaking out of Nina's cabin. I shut the door when he glanced up at me.

"Who was it?" she asked softly.

"No one," I said, then realized I had lied to her. "Joshua, coming out of your maid's room."

"Oh," she said, and her lips quirked slightly.

"I hadn't realized they were acquainted," I said stiffly.

"They weren't," she said dryly, and turned to light a candle to fix her hair.

I stared at her, transfixed by the sight of that soft curtain of mahogany tresses that spilled down her back. She brushed it out, the defiant waves springing back to where they had originally been. She coiled it around her head and pinned it severely up, hiding all the luxurious buoyancy from me. When she stood, I stepped closer to her and kissed her. I hadn't kissed her in what felt like forever. It appeared that I wasn't going to get to either.

She was unresponsive.

She let me kiss her, taste her, touch my tongue to hers.

But I knew I didn't excite her. She felt like a corpse beneath my lips.

It was like being doused with ice water.

I heard a choking sound, and realized it came from me. I stepped back suddenly and wiped my mouth, trying to rid myself of the taste, of the desire, of the utter coldness of her touch.

She didn't look me in the eyes, or even bother moving once I released her.

"I'm sorry," I said in a strangled voice. I turned and stumbled blindly from the room, not stopping until I was safely away from her, where I could bury the disappointment and embarrassment inside.

To be denied by your own wife!

To be turned down, by Laure!

There was nothing more humiliating to my ego. Nothing could have crushed me more. How could I face her again?

I stood, looking out over Marseilles, not seeing anything. Had I ruined everything? Or had her eyes finally opened to what I was? What I would never be.

I imagined that the look on her face when she stared at me this morning had been one of revelation, as she realized how horribly disfigured I was.

I dug around in my pocket until I found my gloves, covering up my trembling hands. I continued looking vacantly out over the water until I heard her behind me.

"Erik?"

"Are you ready?" I asked in what I hoped was a normal tone.

She paused a moment, "I...I didn't mean..."

"Are you ready?" I asked again, sharper.

"I-I thought we might eat breakfast first. It may be awhile before we have another chance."

"Of course," I said stiffly and turned towards her.

She held her hand out to me, but I shied away from her, trying to ignore the cold feeling that had settled in my gut. Her hand fell back to her side, and she walked behind me as I stomped heartlessly back down to the galley.

I ate mechanically, avoiding her eyes, not wanting the touch of comfort she gave me when I stood to assist her from her chair. Wanting it, and wanting her.

I didn't know if I could ever bring myself to approach her again.

A kiss denied...is a kiss denied.

I think a verbal refusal was better than what I had endured this morning. At least then I wouldn't have made such an utter fool of myself, trying to seduce my own wife.

We gathered our things and carried them in silence from the docks to the train station, which was thankfully nearby. Laure took the money I gave her and went to purchase the tickets. I had told her to purchase a private coach, but when she returned, she said that none were available, but she'd taken what she'd been given.

"You should have demanded a private coach," I said viciously. "Now we'll have to share it with God knows how many people."

"I'm sorry," she said meekly. "I've never bought a train ticket before."

I scowled and swore, fumbled around inside my bag for another mask, and gave our luggage to the man waiting beside the train, then boarded, not bothering to see if she followed me. We were the first ones inside the car, and I extinguished all the light inside and replaced the white mask with a black one. Laure stared at me when I turned to face her.

"How many do you have?" she asked softly.

"None of your business," I said calmly, and turned my face away from her.

"Erik, I didn't mean to upset you," she whispered. "I'm sorry. I can't think of anything right now, except Nicolas...and when I look at you..."

I felt like I would wither and die at her words.

She sat down beside me and took my gloved hand, "...when I look at you, I see Nicolas. You...you look just alike. Its too painful right now. I'm sorry."

I didn't respond. I could hear what sounded like a herd of people coming down the hall, then our box opened to reveal two people. They chattered as they arranged themselves, a woman about Christine's age sitting across from me, ignoring me while she arranged her skirts. An older gentleman sat beside her, and immediately began arranging a newspaper across his lap.

"How do you do?" he said politely, "I'm Maurice Genouse, this is my wife Carmen."

"Hello," Laure returned cordially. "I'm Laure Sagesse, this is my husband Erik."

I turned my face slightly towards them, and enjoyed the look of shock on the man's features, and the brief fear on the woman's. A mask of another kind slipped over their faces as I nodded to them.

The man began reading his newspaper, and the woman began examining her gloves with interest.

Laure dug around inside her small reticule and produced two books.

"I thought you might like to read," she said softly.

She offered me my choice, and I chose _Salammbo_ again. I tried to concentrate on the book, but every time I glanced up Carmen Genouse was staring at me. I nearly roared with laughter when I saw her smile at me.

Smile!

So, she wanted to invite disaster?

_No._

I had more important things on my mind, than a woman curious about an oddity such as myself. There were women like that everywhere I went, who found something shocking about a man in a mask. Some of them expressed fear, some of them found something else. I found those women were usually vile and vain. Usually they were much like the khanum. I tended to stay away from them, but now it appeared we would be traveling for at least part of our journey with them.

The other two occupants of our car got off at every stop we made, and I ignored them as best I could. Laure didn't try to speak to me again, and pretended she was engrossed in her book.

Carmen Genouse continued to stare at me during the journey, and even had the audacity to stretch her feet out to touch mine for a moment, before making some inane excuse, trying to goad me into talking.

"Perhaps we should switch, Erik. Your legs are far too long to be bothering _Madame_ Genouse," Laure said coolly.

"I prefer this side," I said stiffly.

I wanted to be able to keep my mask against the outer portion of the car. Then I could turn my head and stare out the window, and no one could see anything, unless they were standing outside of the car.

"We'll be leaving permanently leaving in Lyon, and we should arrive there within the evening some time," Maurice Genouse said dismissively.

Obviously he preferred me sitting next to his wife, rather than him.

I sat back, and waited for the evening to arrive. It was going to be a long trip, and all I could think about was Nicolas. He was all I would allow myself to think about.

Thinking about Laure hurt too much.


	65. Whatever it May Be

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

If she continued making cow eyes at him, I was_ going to slap her. _My son was missing, and was perhaps wounded, frightened, alone. In danger.

And this evil woman was making eyes at Erik, who seemed totally oblivious to her. Not for a moment did I doubt his faith.

After what I had done to him, I knew the last thing he was interested in was a woman. I felt shame down to my core, for denying him, for _hurting_ him. I was the last person in the world who should have _ever_ hurt him the way I did.

Yet I had, just as cruelly and heartless as the rest of the population that Erik had ever encountered. What could I say to him?

_You are a mirror image of Nicolas, and I can't bear to look at you?_

_I feel nothing inside, and never will, unless my son is safe?_

_If something has happened to Nicolas...I never wish to see you again...?_

How I loved them both!

Madame Genouse continued to give Erik sly looks, and occasionally bumped her foot against his. He had already withdrawn his feet to the point of discomfort, and if her husband ever bothered to look in Erik's direction, he would see his wife's toes stretched nearly to the point of absurdity as she struggled to have contact with him.

What was wrong with her? I hadn't been in the company of a married couple other than my parents, and I was shocked at her vulgar display.

I slid closer to him, laying my book beside me on the cushion, and reached for his hand. Calmly I removed his glove and held his hand, then closed my eyes and rested my head against his shoulder.

"Would you mind if I rested a moment?" I asked softly, deliberately loud enough for Madame Genouse to hear.

"Not at all," he said quietly, and I squeezed his hand tightly.

He didn't turn to face me, and I understood why he hadn't wanted to switch sides. He wanted to conceal his mask from the Genouse's prying eyes.

I had known this morning, when he concealed himself from me to wipe at his bare face, and again when he had dimmed the lights to switch masks, that everything I had told him had been forgotten. He believed I had lied to him. He thought I had abandoned him. He thought I no longer desired him.

I asked how many masks he possessed, and he told me it was not my business.

Everything had been cast aside by my careless actions this morning. I hadn't realized that something so insignificant to me could destroy him. But it had. As quick as a bolt of lightening, I had ruined his confidence. I had killed the faith inside of him.

I had torn down his defenses, and plunged a dagger deep inside his heart. I prayed that...as long as Nicolas was safe...I could beg his forgiveness.

If Nicolas was not safe...I prayed that I could forgive him, but instantly knew that I would not.

There was nothing on earth more devastating than having your child in danger. I loved Nicolas, raised him alone, protected him...and in a few short weeks, with the arrival of Erik, we had both done things that resulted in this mad and reckless flight to Paris.

I had lied.

Erik had not.

But Erik had been the Phantom, and I wasn't sure I would be able to even look at him if something had happened to Nicolas. If he found that room...

If Nicolas had found that room, I was certain I would make use of it as well.

For myself.

"It is remarkable weather we are having," Madame Genouse said, looking out the window with careful intent.

Her bland comment was intended for Erik. I found myself answering instead.

I lifted my head from his shoulder, "Yes. I've always found autumn to be the most pleasant of seasons," I said coolly. "I was delighted to be married in such splendid weather."

"Oh?" she asked, turning to look at us in surprise, "You are newlyweds then?"

"No," I said smoothly. "Why, I would say we've been married for close to fifteen years or more. We have a son together. Nicolas."

To his credit, he didn't even turn his head sharply, as I had expected. Instead he removed his other glove and placed it carefully across his thigh. His hand covered mine, slightly damp and hot from the leather. He raised it briefly to his lips, and turned his head slowly, meeting my eyes for the first time in hours. His wounded green eyes searched my face for a moment.

"Has it been so long?" he whispered. "I feel as if we've only been married a week."

With shock I realized he was right.

Had it truly only been a week?

Had I raised Erik to the height of heaven, and offered him the sweetest reward, then yanked it away as quickly, all within a week?

I squeezed his hand tighter, and felt him briefly squeeze back.

Thankfully the Genouse family was disinclined to speak with us again, and finally got off the train in Lyon. I left the car long enough to make sure it was secured for our private use for the remainder of the trip. It would take nearly two days to reach Paris, and I returned to the coach, surprised to see Erik had left. I sat, waiting for him to return, and was beginning to drift off when the door opened to reveal his large frame, carrying a plate of food with him.

His eyes met mine as he offered me first choice of the simple meal.

I hadn't realized how hungry I was.

We ate in silence, consuming meat, bread, and cheese, and I even cleared two glasses of wine before I ever thought about my earlier sickness.

I hoped it wouldn't return.

Hearing about Nicolas, and what was waiting for us in Paris had made me violently ill. Such turmoil had that effect on me, and the rocking ship had not helped matters at all.

He leaned over and snapped the lock on the door of the car, and looked at me for a moment.

"I'm going to try and get some rest. Can I get you anything?"

"I...I want to talk to you," I said softly.

_"No."_

"Erik-"

He shook his head, "Not tonight. You were right...we'll sort_ this_ out when we find Nicolas."

_This._

Our marriage. We had to _sort_ our marriage out.

He stretched out the best he could in the car, and I extinguished the lights, lying across from him on the opposite cushion.

"Goodnight," I whispered, reaching across the dark expanse between us and finding his arm. I nearly fell from my makeshift bed before he relented and gave me his hand.

It was a long time before he whispered the words back to me, and I was able to be lulled into sleep by the rocking of the train beneath us.

-------------------------

When I woke, he was sitting up, looking cold, lonely, bereft. Staring out the window, looking at nothing.

I sat up and quickly rearranged my hair, then moved over to sit beside him. If he was surprised when I lay my head against his arm and closed my eyes, he did not show it. I was feeling overly tired from consuming so much wine, and drifted on and off again for what felt like hours. When I woke up we were going through more mountains, although we didn't seem to be as high up, and the air didn't feel quite as cold.

"Where are we?" I asked quietly.

He shifted his arm slightly, and I sat up to peer out the window.

"We have just crossed into the Bourgogne Department. We're going to be here for a most of today. Tomorrow we will enter the Paris Department, but first there are a million stops we must make. That is why the journey takes so long."

Already I could feel us slowing down, and wondered how many stops I had slept through.

"Nicolas always says I sleep like the de-"

I stopped, appalled at what I had been about to say, and my mouth hung open for a moment as I tried to compose myself.

Tried and failed.

I buried my face in my hands and started shaking again. It seemed like forever before I felt his hand on my back, and he rubbed a slow circle there.

"You're going to make yourself ill," he said softly.

"I-I c-can't help it!" I said sharply. "This is agony. It is pain too deep for you to comprehend."

"You think I feel nothing?" he asked, and removed his hand from me. "You think that I feel nothing at all, for the son I've only recently become acquainted with?"

"I didn't say that!"

"Not in so many words, but I'm neither a fool, nor deaf. I heard exactly what you said," he nearly shouted at me. "You think I wanted to lose everything? I didn't want this. I would have never come to Corsica, if I had known what pain I might cause you and Nicolas! I should have though," he said, his hands balling into fists. "I should have known my misery would rub off on the rest of you."

"Erik, I don't..."

"You don't blame me?" he asked mockingly. "Oh, but I think you do. You have every right. If Nicolas has been injured, in any way, because of me, then you don't have to worry about our marriage any longer. I will take myself as far away from you as I can, and him, God willing he is still alive."

"And if he is not harmed?" I dared to ask.

I wanted it more than anything. I wanted Erik _and _Nicolas. Was I selfish, to want it all?

"If he is not harmed, I will do whatever you ask of me," he said quietly. "Whatever it may be."


	66. Loving on the Road to Paris

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

She never did respond to my statement, and I took it to mean that she had not yet decided my fate. Or perhaps she had, and was unwilling to share it with me until we knew for certain what had happened to Nicolas.

I settled back against the cushioned seat and prepared to sleep again. It was nearly eight in the evening, and we had both been restless for the last few hours. We should arrive in Paris in roughly thirty four hours, and then there was the problem of slipping through Paris in the morning unseen. Laure would have no problems.

I, as usual, would have to hide.

I felt the train slowing for what was hopefully our last stop of the night.

"I'm going to get off and stretch my legs," I said quietly. "Are you going to come with me, or would you prefer to be alone?"

She sat up, and I realized she had possibly been dozing again. It was impossible to tell in the dark coach.

"I'll go with you. I need to find a...a water closet, if its at all possible."

"I'm sure they have one available," I said dryly.

I knew how she felt. I hadn't relieved myself but twice since getting on board.

"Do you think you could find us something to eat?" I withdrew my wallet handed it to her.

I heard her rustle around a moment, then, "How much money do you carry on you?"

"Enough."

She snorted, "This is enough to purchase a house."

"Only a small house," I said defensively. "I don't like being unprepared for anything."

The train rolled to a halt, and I stood up, offering her my arm. She stepped into the hall and peered at the money in her hand, then handed half of it back to me, along with my wallet.

I nodded at the startled station agent as I descended, then turned to assist her down. Following the signs, we made our way to the lavatories and parted.

Such relief.

When I returned, she was still inside, so I directed the nervous looking station agent to transfer our luggage from the storage area to our coach, then leaned against the shadows of the building until she came out. She nearly screamed when I stood up to take her arm.

"I didn't see you," she said, clutching at her heart. "You are very provoking in that black mask."

"We have about twenty five minutes. Is there anything in particular you'd like to do?"

"Walk around a bit, then find something to carry back to our coach. I have half a mind to drink an entire bloody bottle of wine, so I can sit in stupor for the rest of this journey," she said darkly. "Only then, I'd need that lavatory far more than I already have."

I didn't respond, having never discussed a something so private with anyone before. I wasn't sure there was an appropriate response, or if she was merely saying it to humor me.

We walked the entire length of the station platform and back again three times before she finally left to purchase a simple meal from a small cafeteria inside the station.

"They were nearly closed," she said, jostling a basket of goods, "I took what they offered, but it wasn't much."

I took them from her and peered inside.

More meat and cheese. No bread. No wine.

She showed me a small bottle of milk.

I scoffed and boarded the train.

"You don't like milk?" she drawled. "I thought everyone liked milk. Except for Nicolas."

"Its disgusting."

"I thought perhaps he hated it because I drank it so much when I was pregnant," she said softly. "Maybe you passed that trait along to him."

I suddenly felt as if there weren't enough air to draw inside my lungs. I had never considered something so small...something so seemingly unimportant to me...a trait that could be passed on.

From me to Nicolas.

Father to son.

"What else...," I cleared my throat a moment, "...what else did you do...wh-while you carried him?"

She leaned over opened the door to the coach and preceded me inside, turning on the lights and pulling the blind down over the window.

"I wanted to eat everything...all the time. I was as big as a house," she said, smiling a little. "I cried. A lot. I also grinned foolishly for no apparent reason, slept entire days away, painted like mad, drove my mother to distraction, and cleaned."

"Cleaned?" I repeated, finding that by far the most bizarre thing I'd heard.

"Oh, yes," she chuckled. "I couldn't have my house...or rather my mother's house...clean enough. I exhausted myself, trying to clean everything. It was an obsession. I wanted everything to be perfect when he arrived, and the only thing I could do...was clean. I don't sew, I _can't_ cook. I hate organizing a household. But I can clean."

She dug into the basket and began eating, then drank nearly half of the milk. I had lost my appetite, staring at that bottle of milk, wondering if it were possible she was already with child.

She caught my look, and gave me a grim smile.

"It was all they had," she murmured. "I didn't willingly buy this."

I nodded, but felt disappointment slam through me. It was the last thing we needed right now, to further complicate matters. Even if she was pregnant, it didn't secure my place in her life.

I wondered fleetingly if I had given her another child, only to take the other from her.

Discomfited, I removed my boots and propped my feet beside her, struggling to get comfortable on what promised to be another long stretch of railway.

From Dijon, to Paris. We would get there. Eventually.

-----------------------------

I had drifted off and on for two hours, but woke up instantly when I felt the cushion sink beside me. I opened my eyes to the blackness of the coach, and heard only the soft rhythm of the train, and her breathing near my face.

She didn't say anything as she leaned across my torso and kissed my cheek. Not a sound was made, except my sharp intake of breath as I felt her lips glide over my skin towards my mouth. Her hand softly settled against my chest as she kissed me, and I felt a stabbing sensation of desire, combined with acute pain low in my stomach.

What had I done to deserve this?

Was this pity?

God I hoped not, because it felt far too incredible to be anything but ecstasy.

I sat up suddenly and reached out to touch her face, unable to see anything in the darkness. I could feel her, but could not see her.

I guided her mouth back to mine, trembling and hesitant. Terrified and exhilarated.

"Make me forget," she whispered. "I want to forget everything."

I lowered my hand to her shoulder, shocked to find that it was bare. In confusion, I swept my hand across her back, then her leg.

_She wore nothing!_

I groaned as I pulled her to me, feeling suddenly like a raging lunatic as I pressed kisses to her throat, her shoulders, her breasts. In surrender, she yielded to me, and showed me what true passion really was. Her body arched against mine, her hands caressed me erotically through my clothing, then she began tugging at buttons frantically, wanting to complete the act as quickly as possible. The sounds she was making were driving me near the edge. She cried with passion, with all consuming desire, and each time her voice made some harsh sound of pleasure I nearly lifted her onto me to finish the ache that had spread through me. But I didn't want to finish so quickly.

I forced her to slow down. With an alarmingly clear mind, I realized that I might never have the chance to hold her again.

This could very well be our last time.

_My last time to kiss her._

_To touch her._

_To be inside of her._

It was almost too much to even think about, but I took a few deep breaths against her neck before I deliberately lowered my level of frustration, and raised hers considerably by pressing soft delicate kisses to her throat.

I commandeered the situation, making her cry out in dismay as I stood and removed all my clothing, and lay her on the floor between the two seats. She arched against me, still wanting to be wild and untamed, but I wouldn't allow her to do anything to me other than stroke my back and hair.

"Erik-"

"Shh," I murmured against her skin. "I want this to last. Don't deny me, Laure."

I heard her choked sob as her head fell back against the floor of the coach. She stopped trying to rush me, and took several deep breaths as well to control her fierce urge to couple with me.

I started kissing her again, and felt her shaking hands caress my face, her fingers tracing the mask slowly.

"I really do like this," she whispered. "It makes you look so handsome. Black suits you very well."

"You are beautiful...all the time," I said softly. "You will always be beautiful."

She sighed against me, and caressed my back, pressing slow and delicate kisses across my shoulders. I could hardly feel her lips, but the sensations were indescribable. We took our time, not daring to cross that boundary that would send us into pure heaven until we were both ready.

It would mean the end...at least for now.

We stroked, caressed, kissed, until the only other contentment to be had was to join. I paused above her, feeling a compelling urge to ask her...to hear it again _this way_, if only once more.

"Laure," I whispered raggedly, "do you..., oh Christ,...do you st-still l-love me? I can't do this, I couldn't _bear _to do this if you don't."

"I love you," she rasped against my mouth, "I have always loved you. I will always love you."

With a primal cry of triumph, and mortal pain, I entered her. Seeking solace in her warm and giving body, saying a small prayer that I would live to be there again.

"I love you," I said thickly, then began to move inside her.

Her legs wrapped around me as she arched from the floor to receive me, and her arms sailed over my head, bringing my mouth down to hers whenever she desired, which was often.

"I love you, Erik," she said breathlessly. "I think you are handsome, and beautiful. I wouldn't change anything about you, not in a million years. I love your face, and your body," she panted, "your hands. Legs. Those long fingers. Those skillful fingers. I love them beyond measure."

"Laure-"

"Shh...let me...," she whispered. "I love your eyes. They are the most intense and consuming eyes. Brilliant...green...they are the keystone of your power."

I had stopped moving, and held inside her, listening with desperate attentiveness to her soft voice.

"Power?" I asked in a low voice.

"You are the most _powerful_ person I know. Mysterious. Magical. Completely charming. I love you...I love you so v-very much. My husband...," she was crying now, I could tell.

"You're my _wife_," I said fiercely. I moved within her again. "I love you. Your temper, your devotion, your kindness. I never thought I would ever experience anything close to what you have given me. I hadn't even known such a thing existed. You are the most beautiful and enchanting woman in the world. My beautiful orchid...my love."

I thrust against her again, utterly speechless now. My throat felt too tight to work properly, and my chest felt as if it would simply burst open from the pure pressure that was compressed inside. I rained kisses across her face, then drove my tongue inside with a brutal strength, wanting to master her, to possess her completely.

I wanted her to remember me...as powerful.

Not weak.

I wanted her too commit to memory this moment...the desperation we both felt to comfort each other...to save one another...if only for _this moment. _Paris was like a distant, looming star, and for _this moment_, we could both forget what peril awaited us.

We became one, then two, then one again.

Our hearts beat erratically in our chests as we submitted ourselves to desire, and became slaves to its demanding promise. She tightened around me, and I instantly hardened to the point of pain as I felt the surge behind my flesh.

She screamed against my shoulder as I drove inside harder, and plunged one last glorious time against her. The silence that followed was tremendous.

Only the roaring in our ears, the rough sound of our breathing, and the clacking of the train was audible over the booming of our hearts.

Instinctively I nuzzled her cheek, seeking to prolong the afterglow of lovemaking. She sighed against me and met my mouth again, her hands sliding over my slick back, my hands caressing her glistening face.

After a while, I started to move away from her, but she wrapped her arms around me.

"I can't let you go," she whispered, allowing me to slide out of her, but not off. "I can't let you go. Not yet."


	67. A Real Conversation

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

"Not yet," he agreed, his voice raw and filled with pain.

I gripped him tighter to me, stroking his hair, his cheek. In silence I removed his mask and kissed his face, not bothering to ask if it was alright. Not wanting to do anything more than comfort him, than love him.

A disturbing thought had occurred to me. A wonderful and utterly frightening thought.

What if Nicolas had returned to Corsica already, while I had traveled to Paris and destroyed what little trust that Erik had developed in me? What if I had already damaged him too much, and he no longer wished to subject himself to my cruel treatment?

If Nicolas was safe...what would become of us after I had acted so thoughtlessly?

I did desire him. I did love him.

In the last few hours, I had been relaxed enough to talk about my pregnancy without a hint of fear or pain. I had told him things I had never told anyone else, and realized how much I wanted to carry his child again, and wanted it with a desperation that was nearly frightening.

I still wasn't certain, and wouldn't be for at least another couple of weeks. Yet, when he had stared at the milk bottle, I had felt a tightening in my womb, and the longing for him that I hadn't felt when he had tried to kiss me on the ship.

The longing I had been too filled with fear to return. Too numb with grief and shock.

I had come alive at that bold stare, and the resulting look of utter disappointment that had crossed his features.

He wanted to be a father.

He truly did.

And I wanted it for him as well.

I knew that nothing would heal him, and make him more complete than to see the miracle of the birth of his child, and hold the new life in his arms.

Nothing could bring Erik more joy.

I wanted to find Nicolas, and bear Erik another child...perhaps a daughter...and I wanted to love him for the rest of my life.

For the rest of the night, I wanted to forget that there was anything wrong with what we were doing. I wanted to forget that Nicolas could be in danger...could be any number of things.

I wanted to cling to Erik, and allow him to support me, to give me strength, hope, peace.

"I think we may have roused our neighbors," I whispered, still kissing his right cheek.

"Far better than the train attendant," he muttered. "Did you think to lock the door?"

"Do you think I'm insane?" I chuckled. "I was naked before you were even awake. Of course I locked it."

"I...I think I may be dreaming," he said softly.

I pinched him, and he grunted at me, his side twisting out of reach.

"I hope you are dreaming of me then," I said silkily. "And were not thinking of Madame Genouse and her wandering toes."

"That _woman_," he groaned. "I wanted to toss her out the window. I had half a mind to do it."

"If she had kept on, I think I honestly might have punched her."

"Punched her? A lady does not punch another lady," he said mildly.

"Oh, well I'm not a lady. And neither was she," I answered carelessly.

"You are every inch a lady...a woman," he whispered against my mouth before kissing me. "_My_ woman."

The thrill that shot through me was divine, and I reveled in his touch, in his warm embrace. It was slightly cool inside the coach, and he slid off me and wrapped his arms around me, pulling a blanket from the cushion and drawing it over us.

"Do you think the attendant has a key?" I asked, feeling a fine layer of drowsy splendor in my body.

"I'm sure he does. What a shock it would be, to find the two of us like this."

I leaned over and kissed his face again, then fumbled around in the darkness for his mask and pressed it into his hand.

"I never meant to make you think that this was the cause...this wasn't...has never been...," I searched for the right words, then decided to be blunt. "Your face is not why I didn't kiss you back. I thought it would be wrong of us to do this while Nicolas is out there. I still think it. I'm sorry, but I'm a mother first. I haven't quite mastered being a wife."

"I understand," he replied, although he sounded distant.

"You look so much like Nicolas. I...I've been missing him, but I've also been carefree, enjoying our time together the last week...almost grateful that we were alone. And then _this_," I began to rant. "This had to happen...and now I feel so much guilt that it is nearly impossible to bear."

He wrapped his arms around me and pressed my face against his shoulder.

"You aren't alone," he said slowly. "I feel guilt. Panic. Terror. Extreme disappointment in myself, in how I have failed him, and you."

"You haven't failed," I said swiftly. "I'm sorry I didn't tell him about the fire. I'm sorry I kept it from you both."

"You do realize he's believed that I've never harmed a woman? I told him so. If he read a recent newspaper, those accounts of what happened with Christine...he's going to think I've defiled her...that I hurt her in many, many ways."

"How did you know about the newspaper again?" I asked. My mind was not working straight, and I couldn't quite remember what he'd told me.

"He told me," he said with a sigh. "I did say they were inaccurate, but obviously he wasn't sure, otherwise he never would have taken off."

"He isn't gullible. There must have been something else to make him do this. He knew about Christine, because Nadir wrote to me about her, but that letter preceded the fire by a few months. He said you were her voice trainer, but had fallen in love with her," I paused for a moment. "Erik, he does love you. I heard him say it, and I know he meant it."

Silence.

"He's your son. He loves you, and has always loved you. He's always wanted to meet you, to learn things about you. Love isn't something you can turn off and on at whim," I said gently. I moved my body against his fully, and found his lips again. "Love will sustain you. It will withstand anything and everything that threatens it. Nicolas will never hate you. Don't underestimate your appeal to him."

"I don't deserve either one of you," he whispered. "Perhaps when this is over...the best thing for me to do is stay out of your lives."

"Oh, Erik," I choked out, and held him to me. "I don't want that. Neither does Nicolas."

He began to tremble slightly, and his hands fisted against my back, pulling me tighter and tighter to him.

We held each other deeper into the night, alternating between sleep and restless kisses, and I was surprised when I opened my eyes to see daylight beginning to peer through the blind. Erik was awake as well, watching me through suddenly wary eyes.

"We'll be in Paris this time tomorrow," he said quietly.

"We will?"

"Yes," he said gravely. "Then we'll find Nicolas."

"And beat him within an inch of his life."

His eyebrow shot up. "You're going to beat him?"

"_That_ is a possibility," I said wryly. "But I don't suppose you would approve?"

He shook his head, clearly not certain whether or not I was joking.

"What should be his punishment then?"

"_Punishment?" _he echoed. "You want me to punish him?"

"You are his father. He has behaved improperly. He ran away, he has terrified us both. He disobeyed me and my father, and displayed an astonishing lack of intelligence. I do believe it would be the perfect time for you to set your foot down."

Provided...nothing else was wrong.

I was choosing to believe...nothing else was wrong.

Erik looked baffled. "I can't punish him. That isn't...I don't know how. I can't. I love him too much."

"It is your duty as a parent," I said gently. "Nicolas has done something wrong. Punishing him does not mean that you don't love him. It means you are concerned about him, and want him to be reprimanded for his actions. It does not mean you take him to the woodshed and beat him. It does not mean you have to hit him...or harm him physically in any way. There are other things that can be done."

"Such as?" he asked, but he still sounded hesitant.

"More chores. Menial jobs that will do nothing but irritate him. I have made him paint our house three times in one year before. He has had to clean the house, the yard, things like that."

"How much trouble has he been in?" his eyes were wide. "I thought you said he was _sweet_!"

I laughed. "He is. But he's been in fights the last couple of years, and this impulsive kissing of every girl in the village must stop, otherwise he will be wed to the first one who's father comes pounding on my door. I don't want to become a grandmother anytime soon. I'm only thirty!"

He sat up quickly. "Grandparents?" he groaned. "No. I don't want to be a grandfather. Not yet."

"Then, you should think of something to keep him in line. He's only fifteen. He needs some set of boundaries, even if he does occasionally step over them. I just don't want him to leap!"

He looked at me, and I saw desire leap into his eyes as he took in my bare body on the floor. He leaned down to kiss me, and would have continued...but we felt the train slowing down.

"We had better get dressed," he said softly.

"I think it might be best. We still have a long day ahead of us, and there's no telling how many stops we'll have to make," I said, struggling to sit up.

We dug around in our luggage and I was able to shake most of the wrinkles out of a dress, and he scowled as he tried to shake them out of his own clothing.

When we finally dressed the train had already been stopped for a few minutes.

"Are you coming?" I asked.

He nodded, "Yes, I really am beginning to hate train travel."

"Come now," I chided. "We couldn't have done that in a carriage."

His lips quirked slightly, and he pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"Maybe. Maybe not. I've honestly never thought about it."

I smiled a secret smile inside as I did. Honestly, it wasn't something I had considered either. But it certainly was interesting to think about.


	68. To the Opera

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

--------------

Note: the mob never destroyed Erik's home in this story, and this is Kay's lair, not the one in the movie. Thanks!

--------------

_Erik_

We spent the rest of the day in a more relaxed silence, but it was when we went to lay down that evening that I began to feel nervous. When we woke up, we would be in Paris.

I wanted to close my eyes and drift off, and end the waiting...end the torment...and wake up in Paris. She wanted it as well, but we ended up seeking comfort first, which I was grateful for. I could always have her one more last time. We were not as languid as last night, and allowed desire to overtake us and erase the pain and doubts we both felt, but were too scared to speak of.

I knew she still hadn't decided what would happen to us, and she knew that I was terrified of letting her go...of being alone.

She didn't contradict my belief that I would be.

I held her as she slept, and thought into the endless night, until I was exhausted from worry, pain, and fear. When I closed my eyes, it felt as if I had merely blinked a moment, and I woke up to the faint light of dawn on the blinds.

I sat up quickly and looked out the window.

"We're almost there," I said, giving her shoulder a slight shake.

She sat up and began tugging clothes on frantically, arranging her hair, and stuffing everything into her bag.

I dressed and sat down, waiting for the train to begin slowing.

"You'll need to find a carriage to take us to the theater. I'm going to have to stay out of sight. They haven't forgotten about me yet, and would take pleasure in seeing me kneel beneath a guillotine."

She paled, and sank down beside me.

"I hadn't even thought to worry about you," she whispered, tears filling her eyes. "I don't think I can take anymore."

"I'll be fine," I said reassuringly.

I gave her Nadir's address, just in case, and also Madame Giry's.

"Erik-"

"Shh. We're stopping. Just do what I ask, and we'll be at the theater in no time. Tell the driver not to turn around, and to stay on his perch. It has worked often enough at night, I see no problem with them doing it during the day," I pressed a kiss to her cheek and hauled her luggage and mine up. "I'll find you."

The train stopped, and she walked quietly out to the station, and I followed more slowly, pulling a cloak around my face and shouldering my way past the slow herd of people moving through the narrow hall. They didn't protest, and I stepped out of the first door I came to, seeing Laure talking with a carriage driver. He glanced around a moment, but nodded, turning his carriage away from her and facing forward.

I went to her and set the luggage down, then climbed inside after her. Her eyes were wide as we began moving, and she peered out the window, looking at the quiet city streets around us.

"Is it what you expected?"

"No," she whispered. "How far to the theater?"

"Not far. When we get there, we will have to take a side entrance. I have no idea if reconstruction has begun or not, and really have no wish to encounter anyone inside."

"Do you think he's there?" she asked softly.

I hesitated, "Hopefully he is safe. We will have to see."

I didn't speak the rest of the way, each turn of the carriage wheel taking me closer to home, and to the fate of my son. I dreaded having Laure see my home, knowing what was left of my raving obsession with Christine.

Pictures, songs, poems. Clothing.

That damn wax mannequin.

I shuddered, wondering how I could explain that to her. Before I could think of a logical reason for her to remain in the carriage, or travel on to Nadir's apartment, we had arrived, and she leapt out of the carriage.

"Don't turn around, monsieur," she reminded the driver.

I stepped from the cart and took our luggage, and walked quickly to the side entrance of the theater, hearing Laure behind me, her shoes slapping against the street.

"Be quiet," I said sharply. "You make any more noise, and you'll be walking barefoot."

"Sorry," she said meekly.

I turned the lock on the door and slipped through the entrance, then immediately pushed open the opposite wall to reveal one of many tunnels that went to my home.

"I'll leave the bags here," I said, softer. "There's no sense in lugging them all the way down."

"Down," she repeated, though not a question.

I was painfully aware of what my home looked like to her. Dark tunnels, and as we began descent into the subterranean world, it was cold, wet, and smelled terrible. It wasn't always like that, and I suppose after I while I had become accustomed to the smell, but since I had been away for so long, I thought it smelled disgusting.

I had been living with a normal family for nearly three weeks, and the difference between us was enormous. It had been a very long time since I had sat at someone's table and ate a meal with them. It was embarrassing to show Laure my reclusive prison. My self imposed nightmare.

She never complained during the trip down, and did not speak, merely looked in amazement at everything. The statues, the enormous arching doorways, the thousands and thousands of steps that led farther into the bowels of the earth.

When I reached the area where the water trap was, I held my breath as I peered inside. He was not there. She hadn't been paying attention to what I was doing, and didn't realize that I was checking to see if Nicolas was there. I disabled the mechanism that would release the floor from beneath the person who was standing on the trap, and I continued on, checking some of the harmless traps on my way down, and seeing nothing.

When we finally made it to the lake, she stared in awe, and reached out to touch the green water.

"Its freezing."

"Always," I said softly. "You aren't afraid of a small boat are you?"

"Is it deep?" she asked, looking at the water, then at the boat.

"No. Only thigh high on me."

"I would hate to fall into that. It think you would simply turn into an icicle," she said, giving the boat another worried look.

"It isn't fun," I admitted. "But I have a fireplace, if it should happen. I assure you it will not."

"Let's go," she said suddenly, and scrambled into the boat.

I pushed away from the shore, and rowed us farther out into the lake. The fifteen minute pace that I normally set was thrown aside as I put more muscle behind the oar, bring us to the iron grate within five minutes. I was facing the shore of my home, but Laure was facing me.

Nicolas was nowhere in sight.

When I pushed the boat onshore, the first thing I did was run to the mirrored room and wrench the door open. Lying on the floor, with their back to me, was the figure of a man.

Nicolas was nowhere in sight.

I heard Laure cry out behind me, and as she did, the man spun around to look at me. My heart nearly stopped within my chest.

"Where's Christine?" he asked, glaring at me. "Where's my wife?"


	69. Favoring Freedom

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

The man on the floor...who I realized dimly must be Raoul de Chagny, had staggered to his feet, his clothing askew, his hair hanging limply about his face. He looked nothing like the dandy that Nadir had described to me. He looked quite...untidy.

One look around the mirrored room told me he had been there for at least a day or more.

"Where is she?" he repeated, leaning against the a mirror with one arm to support himself.

"I have no idea," Erik sneered. "Do you make a habit of losing your wife?"

"She's here, damn you, Erik! I found the bloody note, so don't bother making excuses," he shouted. "Where is Christine?"

"She's not here!" Erik roared. "Have you taken leave of your senses?"

I could see Erik's expression in the mirrors. One of murderous intent.

The Vicomte thrust a note toward Erik, his mouth twisting in outrage, "You sent this, don't bother denying it. I want my wife. You can't seriously think she would want you. She married _me_, for God's sake! I want her back, now, and I won't have you interfering in our lives again!"

Erik snatched the note from his hand, his face losing all anger as he read a note on pale linen colored paper.

"He's been here," he whispered, and handed me the note.

I scanned it quickly, feeling a tightening in my heart as I did:  
_Christine,_

_I must see you. Meet me at the theater._

_Always,_

_Your Angel_

It was scrawled in Nicolas's less than perfect hand, in blood red ink.

I finally looked around the rest of his home, seeing what would look like any other home, if it contained walls, was not surrounded by water, and wasn't as frigid as a stiff winter wind. The bold red colors...hadn't he said it was once his favorite...suited the inelegant yet charming atmosphere. It was...Erik. I could picture him here, in his dark world. Suited far more to it than my cheerful home.

My artists eye appreciated the beauty of it.

The woman in me found it less than appealing.

I also noted with pained interest that excessive drawings of Christine adorned almost every available wall, desk, and any other furniture he obviously never used.

At last I knew her face.

She was beautiful, and so very young. Younger than me, anyway.

Raoul de Chagny apparently had noticed me, and he bowed to me stiffly, which I found amusing, considering he looked less than respectable.

"My lady," he murmured, obviously not sure what to call me.

"Monsieur," I returned politely. "I assure you that neither Erik, nor myself are aware of your wife's location. We have only arrived in Paris this morning, straight from Corsica."

"Corsica?" he asked, turning to look at Erik, who was ignoring him, studying the mirrored wall with interest.

I found it strange, considering he hated mirrors.

I had nearly lost my soul when I spied a body lying on the floor. I had not detected the smell of burning or charred flesh that I remembered from Persia...but the sight of that body had nearly undone me.

Then it had moved...and revealed that it was not Nicolas at all.

Monsieur de Chagny turned to look back at me, and I asked with hesitation, "You have not seen a young man about have you? Fifteen...dark hair...hazel eyes?"

"No, I'm sorry," he said softly. "You...of course, you've already told me you haven't seen Christine," he muttered.

"This is your wife?" I asked, stooping to pick up a charcoal sketch of her. It was very well done, but in Erik's way, he had made her seem almost gothic. No doubt she was the epitome of innocence and sweetness. "She's lovely."

Erik's face had tightened when he saw me holding the picture, but he'd ventured nearly all the way inside the chamber.

"Yes...she's-"

He halted, and we both jumped at the crashing inside the mirrored room. I stared in shock as a mirror shattered in front of me, and glass shards slid across the stone floor to my feet. Standing where before had been the outer chamber of the mirrored room, was Erik, a sledgehammer in his grasp.

Chagny visibly stepped closer to me, but Erik had already turned to the next mirror and shattered it as well.

It wasn't done in anger...or in passion.

His face was somber as he did it...methodically tearing apart what had no doubt took considerable time to create.

"What is he doing?" he whispered.

"He's releasing some inner demons," I whispered back. "Watch closely...you are seeing a miracle."

We watched in silence as he destroyed every last one of the mirrors, then beat mercilessly at the iron tree in the center.

His breathing was harsh as he stopped, and though he took great lengths to hide it, his hands trembled. I knew why he had done it. So that Nicolas would never see the inside of that room.

No doubt he already had, but it had been my worst fear that he would never see _outside_ of it again.

He tossed the hammer down and released a great breath.

"I'm going to look around the theater. I think it would be best if you stayed behind," he said, looking at me.

I moved closer to him. "With Christine's husband?" I asked, wide eyed.

"He's a gentleman, if nothing else," he said softly. "I'm going to get Nadir, and I have to find Nicolas, and his _wife_. But don't mention anything about Nicolas...I can't be certain what his intentions would be if he knew that our son lured his wife away...and I have no idea why Nicolas would do such a thing."

He glanced at Chagny, "I'm entrusting _my _wife to you. I don't doubt you will treat her with anything other than respect and courtesy. This is, after all, her home as well as mine."

"Erik-" he began, but Erik waved him off.

"I don't have time for you. Stay here, leave, I don't care. But I don't think it would be wise for you to follow me."

He pressed a kiss to my forehead, and with a last weary glance around his home, he left.

I felt the Vicomte's eyes on me, but I ignored him and began looking around Erik's home, glancing at the voluminous number of paintings, my heart aching with longing and jealousy over poetry and songs. My eyes settled on the score for _Don Juan Triumphant_, and I pored over each lurid word, feeling breathless and angsty just reading them. Perhaps I should demand that Erik sing the opera to me. My heart broke at the underlying theme in the story...and Erik's own confession that he had been named Don Juan by the gypsy master.

It had implied that he was sexual, when he had not been.

It mocked him because most women could not see past the mask to his attractiveness...to his presence...that was compelling and enchanting all on its own.

A leaf of paper flew out of the score and fluttered near Chagny's feet. He picked it up, his handsome face scowling as he looked at it.

"What is it?" I asked softly.

"Amnita," he spat. "Damn him. He designed this dress for the role. It was indecent. The entire opera was indecent."

"Spare me your pious take on things, Monsieur de Chagny. Erik has put up with much in this world, a few words that were meant to shock, to invoke passion, to create desire...I doubt the world has been irreparably harmed in hearing them," I said snidely.

"Christine sang in this dress," he said quietly, handing me the page.

I looked at it, seeing the sheer beauty of such a dress. Not something I would wear, but it was romantic and beautiful.

"She looks ravishing in it. I would think that with all the other performances out there, this one would have been memorable...if the fire had not disrupted it," I said frostily. "If she had not been so kind as to _rip_ his mask from his _face_, in front of everyone!"

"You are quite fiercely protective of him, are you?" he asked, clearing some things aside from a chair to sit. "You married him? Do you love him?"

"Of course I love him," I said waspishly.

I was beginning to tire of this man. I had not liked either one of them much since I had first read Nadir's letter. Of course, I had likely embellished a little, giving light to things that were not true, and seeing him as a spoiled aristocrat. I still couldn't find it easy to like him.

"How long have you known each other?" he asked cautiously.

"A very long time. Long before he ever came here to live," I said, gesturing to the small house.

I moved away from him, finding more drawings of Aminta...of Christine dressed in various other roles, none of which I recognized. Perhaps they were merely pretty dresses.

My heart was crushed when I saw her in a wedding dress.

It was then that I also saw the mannequin.


	70. Searching

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

Why the devil had I brought her here?

I knew it was a knee jerk reaction to wanting to find Nicolas, and get him safely away from the theater. But why had I brought her?

She was in my home, right this very second, looking through my things. Through my dark and pointless obsession with Christine.

With Raoul de Chagny of all people!

I still wasn't sure why I had left her with him! Unless it was because I didn't want to look in her eyes, or _have to_ look in her eyes as she took in the rest of my home. I didn't want to see her when she found the mannequin, the coffin, the music.

I also didn't want her to see the destroyed theater, which was why I wanted to go alone.

I was horribly embarrassed by what she would find in my little cave. Now that I knew what a normal family did together...how they interacted with one another...I was mortified by what she would see in those dark walls.

I had not been around people for so long...and now I had once again brought them into my domain. Provoking thoughts, indeed.

The theater wasn't nearly as damaged as I first thought. The structure was seemingly secure, although the roof was probably going to fall through at some point in time. The stage area, of course, was the most ruined part of the theater. Empty iron frames of chairs stood, where before they had been clothed in deep red velvet. Row upon row of empty, gaping chairs filled the theater. The stage had been made of sleek marble, and was scorched completely black.

Still, I could see where some effort had been made to clean it up. Piles of rubbled stood everywhere, purposely put there, rather than what otherwise would have been teeming layers of debris. The fire had tried to lick at the heavens of the ceiling itself, but had stopped when it lacked the kindling to keep going.

As I made my way backstage, I was forced to leave my normal hiding space and walk through the halls as normal men had. The tunnels and false walls had caved in, and I had no desire to be trapped inside one. There didn't appear to be anyone around, and I dimly realized it was a weekday. Perhaps they had abandoned the theater once they saw how much work would need to be done.

The first place I stopped of course, was Christine's dressing room. It was empty, but as I pushed the door open and stepped hesitantly inside, I could smell the distinct odor of blown out candles. There was nothing inside to indicate she had been there...other than a soft blue gown that was tossed over the chair.

And the bed had been made.

I opened the mirror cautiously, but it had obviously not been used since the fire. I shut it, and scrawled Nicolas's name across it with red stage makeup.

He would understand, when he saw it, that I had returned.

I didn't have a clue what he wanted with Christine, and hoped he hadn't injured her in any way. Surely he wasn't capable of that.

With a shudder, I continued, checking all the other dressing rooms, including Madame Giry's which was empty. She must have come for her things, I realized. With regret, I knew she had lost her home, and Meg had lost hers as well.

I wondered what they were doing now...if they had been forced into service work, or if they had found employment at another theater. I vowed to find out, and offer what money I could for their comfort.

Once I found Nicolas.

They weren't on the roof...I discovered that without going there. The stairs were no longer connected to the roofs' entrance, and judging by the sky I had seen peering through on various occasions, I didn't think it would support a man's weight in any case.

There was nowhere left for me to go...but to find Nadir.

I went back underground and made my way through endless tunnels until I was the closest I could come to his apartment before having to walk in daylight.

He opened his door...wider when he saw who it was.

"He isn't here," he said softly.

With shock, I looked at him.

"You've seen him?"

"Yes," he said, moving aside so that I could enter. "I tried to persuade him to return home...but he doesn't know me very well. I made sure he was safe...but then he asked me to leave. I had no choice."

"He kicked you out of my home?" I asked, slightly amused. Not that I hadn't thought of it often.

"He didn't invite me to stay...," he said slowly, then turned up a lamp.

A growing bruise was spreading across his cheek, and another one across his eye.

"_Nicolas_ hit you?" I demanded. "Do you know where he is now?"

"No," he admitted. "I think...I think Christine is showing him around Paris," he paused a moment. "She can't be persuaded that he isn't you."

"How long have they been together?" I asked with dread.

"A day and a half. He had already thrown me out of your home by the time a note arrived from the Chagny residence."

"You didn't tell him about Nicolas?"

"No. I told him that you weren't involved...he was looking for Christine. I told him to stay away from the theater. I was planning on going back this evening, once they returned to the theater."

"The Vicomte spent the night in my torture chamber," I said with a sneer. "He didn't find it very comfortable."

"He's alive?" he asked slowly.

"For the time being," I said, merely to cause him worry.

"Where is...ah...where is your wife?"

"I left them in my home," I said quietly. "I'm trying to locate Nicolas. I had worried...I thought he might have been hurt, lurking around the opera."

"He surprised me. I woke up to him pounding on my door. He was demanding that I tell him how to find the Chagny residence," he said softly. "I didn't tell him...but obviously he was able to hire a messenger to deliver his note. I couldn't stop him...but I made sure he didn't get injured going back down."

"If he comes back here...tell him his mother is waiting for him. I can't stalk him all across Paris. I'm returning home."

To my surprise, Nadir followed, and we walked back towards the entrance that would take us underground.

"How is the marriage going?" he asked.

"If Nicolas is safe...we will discuss it then. I'd rather not think about it right now, if you don't mind," I said sharply.

He was disinclined to speak with me for the rest of the journey, and all too soon I was crossing the lake. I could see Laure on the shore...and Chagny kneeling beside my roaring hearth. When he heard my approach, he rose and gave me a belligerent stare. I saw why.

He had destroyed everything.

And Laure had let him.


	71. What is Safe?

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

I hadn't intended to help him at all. When he had begun gathering the dozens and dozens of drawings of her...I had wanted to tell him to stop. I knew his intentions. I would have destroyed them myself.

But Erik had created them...even if they were of Christine...I wanted to look at the skill and beauty of his work. His delicate and sweeping brush strokes...the fine detailing of shadows he created in the nuances of her face. Obviously done with great care and love.

Even if it didn't last.

I also wanted to burn every last one of them.

When Chagny lit the fire, I watched as he burned the papers. I had watched as he dismantled the mannequin, and held its face to the fire until her features were no longer visible, before hurling the head into the lake. The wig went as well, and he had started on clothing that was intended for her when I had stopped him.

That dress...I took it from him and allowed him to have the remainder.

"This is the dress from Aminta?" I asked slowly.

He nodded, and proceeded to throw clothing into the fire.

"I want to keep this one," I said. "And do _not_ touch his music."

I gathered the scores up and put them out of sight...in one of the bedrooms...where I found a coffin.

Nadir had told me...but I was quite unprepared for the shock of that gleaming black case beneath a canopy. What had Nicolas thought? Of course, he had known about it as well...it was in the fourth letter.

The other bedroom contained a beautiful set of furniture, and inside the drawers were several linen kerchiefs with an _M_ monogram.

Who was _M_?

This furniture looked very old...and was obviously well tended.

I knew Christine had used this room...because Erik slept in the coffin.

I locked the door to the bedroom and put the dress on, looking at myself critically in the mirror. It fit me more tightly than it would have Christine...my bust was considerably larger...and probably most other parts of me as well.

Yes, this would certainly do.

I removed it and took the dress out to the fire and tossed it inside, then sat back down. Obeying my commands...the only thing Chagny had destroyed were the portraits of Christine.

The house looked fairly empty without the paintings everywhere. I stood and swept up the glass, then straightened the house as best I could...it really did manage to look untidy even when it was cleaned. There was far too much clutter...to many things to look at. I had found a ring while I was moving things around, and Chagny had tried to take it from me and toss it into the fire as well.

"This is real diamonds!" I protested.

"I know," he snarled. "Give me the damned thing!"

"No!" I shouted, "This is not your house! If you can't behave decently, then get out!"

He looked at the ring a moment in contempt, but then turned back to the fire.

I slid it on my index finger, not trusting him enough to do something sneaky.

We waited for what felt like hours before I heard the distant waves made from the boat. My head raised as they came into view, and I saw Chagny out of the corner of my eyes stand up.

Erik and Nadir were the only ones in the boat.

Erik was looking around his home...and undoubtedly absence of Christine. All traces of her had been removed...and I had rejoiced. I dared him to comment.

I dared him to say one word about her being gone.

Instead, he looked at me and smiled briefly. "Nicolas is safe...Nadir has seen him. But we still don't know where he is."

A wall crumbled inside my heart...and I began to cry.

The last few days had been a nightmare. I had worried...been literally sick with worry...I had hurt Erik, I prayed for Nicolas.

He was safe.

But still not with me.

Erik strode to me and wrapped his arms around me, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

"You didn't find Christine?"

"No," Erik said calmly to the Vicomte. "Perhaps you should go home and see if she has returned."

"Erik," I whispered in his ear, "what if Nicolas is at _their _house?"

I turned around to see the Vicomte heading toward the lake. Had he planned on swimming?

"Wait," Erik called to him. He sighed, "There is something else you need to know. I...I don't know where Christine is...but I know with whom."

The Vicomte whipped around to face us. "With whom?" he demanded.

"Settle down, boy. If you can't deal with this in a rational manner, I will certainly not be telling you," Erik said firmly. "I have a vested interest in seeing the other person...returned to me safely. If one hair is harmed on his head...and you are in any way responsible, I'll string you up from that grate again. Am I being clear?"

"Is my wife in danger?" he asked nervously.

"No."

"Then tell me. I just want her home."

Erik slid me a long glance, "She's with my son, Nicolas."

The Vicomte looked swiftly at me, and I nodded my head.

"He won't hurt her. He's a sweet boy," I said softly. "I'm his mother."

He appeared speechless, looking between the two of us as if we had gone mad. I knew it must come as a terrible shock...only a few months after the fire...and Erik had tried to steal his fiance. When he already had a family somewhere else.

"Nicolas and Erik just met recently," I told him. "I hadn't seen Erik...since before Nicolas's birth, and he knew nothing of the child until a few weeks ago. I believe Nicolas came here to get some answers."

He nodded, but I could tell he was still in disbelief.

"If you would be so kind," Erik said curtly, "take Nadir with you, if he doesn't mind too much. I want to ensure that Nicolas returns here. _Today_. Nadir, tell him if I have to search this city for him _tonight_, I will not be pleased."

It was not a direct command, but they both obeyed him, taking the boat across the lake and disappearing from view.

Erik released me and went to look around his living area, his eyes carefully moving over everything, then going to stand beside the powerful organ standing in the back of the room.

"Where is the music?" he asked quietly.

"In your room."

"The one with the...?"

"Your bed?" I asked gently. "Yes. They are in there with your bed."

"Laure-"

"Its okay," I said softly. "I knew about it."

He narrowed his eyes at me, "I want those letters."

"I burned them."

His eyes glanced over to the fire, "What else did you burn?"

"I burned one dress," I said quietly. "But those letters were destroyed before we ever got married. I wanted Nicolas to hear everything from you. Not from someone else," I hesitated a moment. "Who is _M_?"

"_M_?" he repeated. "You mean the linens?"

I nodded.

"_M_, is for _Madeleine_. My mother," he replied slowly. "Those are her things."

He said it with detachedness, but I could tell he was aware of how much I had seen. I believed I had seen everything. While he had been gone, I had looked through his house like a nosy woman, which I was. I had tried not to feel guilty for looking through his personal effects, and since he had not felt any at all for breaking in my studio, it really wasn't hard.

He sank down into an ornate chair, looking positively evil in it. He was scowling, and looked like a demented king upon his throne. I knelt beside him, looking at him with eyes no longer veiled by distance and ignorance.

"Nicolas is safe," I whispered.

He leaned forward and cupped my cheek, pulling me closer to him until our lips met. Then he removed the diamond ring from my index finger and held it up to look at.

"He is safe, Laure," he said softly. "But are we?"

--------------------

You know, I just realized most of you haven't considered just how handsome Nicolas is. I mean of _course_ Erik is gorgeous...I am really talking about Gerard Butler, you see. But _Nicolas_...well he is like a fifteen year old Gerard Butler...without any facial disfigurements. Now is that enough to make you drool, or what? I mean, if I was still a teenager, _(which I am not)_ I certainly would.


	72. Return to the Shadows

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I had shattered every wall of the torture chamber. I disabled the mechanisms for all the lethal traps inside the remainder of my home.

Nicolas was safe, even if he hadn't been located.

Laure was here, in my home.

She had seen all my things, and had briefly worn Christine's ring...for some reason, and all other traces of Christine was gone.

And _I _felt like burying my head in a hole, and never returning to the scrutiny of her beautiful eyes. At last, I had been truly revealed to her. Even if she was not visibly recoiling from me, inside, I was from her.

From her _normalcy_. The utter and complete confidence she had in herself, and in her family. I had no such emotion. I was not entirely certain things had worked out...and I _truly_ wanted to be alone. Returning to my home was like heaven. Peace, sanctity, security. I didn't want her here with me.

I wanted to hide again...and never have to deal with the stress and heartbreak that I had felt the last few days. The embarrassment of being sought out by four men from her village, of having to defend myself in front of complete strangers, as those men tried to take my mask.

It was humiliating.

Then Laure...she had kept something from me...and Nicolas had run away, no doubt to find out once and for all the truth about me. I was determined to speak with him, to try and make him understand what had happened.

It might not make a difference, though. He still could hate me.

Laure...her lack of passion...then the complete and utter opposite the last two nights. Had that been merely her outlet for grief? It had been mine...but so much more. I had sought comfort in her arms, in her body. I reveled in her attention, and had felt strength in her embrace.

At some point and time today, I would have to face Christine, and I was not prepared for that encounter. Nadir said she thought Nicolas was me. That could only mean that Nicolas had decided to don a mask, and pretend that he was me. Why? To what end?

"Erik?" she asked softly, her first word since my question.

She took the ring from my hand and gazed at it.

"Where did you find it?" I asked quietly.

"Near the organ," she whispered. "It was Christine's, correct? Monsieur de Chagny wanted to burn it."

"You should have let him," I returned evenly.

I plucked the ring from her hand and tossed it into the lake. Her eyes closed as she heard the distant _plop_, then she smiled faintly.

"That must have been worth a fortune."

"Only a small one," I said humorlessly, even though she chuckled.

"Do you just intend to literally throw money away?" she asked, giving me a stern look.

"Not often," I said, frowning. "Laure...there is something I want to tell you. Ask of you."

Her face softened, "Yes?"

"When Nicolas returns...I want you to take him back to Corsica."

"What?" she asked, her facing tightening. "Alone?"

"Yes," I said, tracing her face with distraction. "I...I need some solitude. This has been trying...and I really need some time to myself."

_"Erik-"_

"Shh," I whispered, placing a finger across her lips. "Don't try to persuade me otherwise. I need this."

I need to be away from you, I wanted to say, but didn't. I don't think I had to. She read it plainly in my eyes, that I was withdrawing from her...and I wasn't sure if I could return to what we had shared. I would not return to Corsica, and she, well she _could not_ stay here.

Her eyes filled with tears, "Why? Why are you doing this now? He is safe. We should be discussing how we are going to live the rest of our lives together...not pushing each other away. Don't do this, Erik. _Please, don't do this."_

"I have to," I managed, though my throat was tight, and I wasn't sure if I could breath again.

"I did this, didn't I?" she whispered, her face breaking as she sobbed. "When I pushed you away? How could you not see that I was hurting?" she cried, catching my face in her hands. "I didn't _not_ want you! I was too distraught! Please forgive me for being foolish. _Please_ don't push us away."

I felt exposed to her, with all my skeletons before her eyes.

_Had she seen the photo of my mother, and made the connection to Christine?_

_Did she wonder why I slept in a coffin?_

_Did she suspect I used the mannequin as a substitute for a warm body?_

I was so exposed, so completely open to her once naïve eyes, and I did not care for it. I wanted her out of here! I wanted Nicolas away from my things.

_I didn't want them to see! _

And they had seen _everything._

"Don't try to dissuade me," I said with a icy tone. "I want to be alone. Nicolas may visit some time in the future. Perhaps I will write to you to discuss what needs to be done..."

"What needs to be done?" she screeched. "You are _abandoning _us?"

She stood abruptly and moved away from me, her fists clenching in anger.

"Its for the best, for now," I said quietly. "I realized once I returned here...this is probably where I belong. The world didn't want me then, and it doesn't want me now."

"Who cares about the world, Erik! What about what_ I _want? What about what Nicolas wants?" she snapped. "Are you seriously considering living here the rest of your life? Alone?"

"It has appeal," I said stiffly.

It had enormous appeal. I wouldn't have to deal with these troublesome emotions that were so dangerously intertwined with love.

Fear. Pain. Uncertainty.

Them knowing I was a ruthless killer was one thing.

Knowing I was demented, and had descended into such depravity...it was agonizing. What must they think of me?

She stared at me, a look of betrayal and anger on her face. I knew she thought by now I would have conformed to her lifestyle. She thought with love and affection she could cure me, but I knew that nothing could cure the darkness and morbidity that I had already indulged in.

_I was not normal._

_I would never be normal._

Why hadn't I told her the depths I had sunk into? It would have dissolved all the foolish notions she had of us marrying.

I could close my eyes, and see her beneath me...willing...beautiful...a woman, ready for me.

As a man, the memory brought an instant rush of desire. A flooding of sensations that I thought I could be satisfied with for the rest of my days, if I needed to.

Her seeing this...this tomb...I started to feel as if I couldn't even look her in the eyes, which I had not wanted to do since I set foot inside here with her.

"I want you to come with me," she said firmly. "Come out of here with me, Erik. This place has done something to you. This isn't you. This is the _Phantom_, and I won't allow him between us."

"He's already here!" I hissed. "He's always been here Laure, and he always will be!"

I tightened my hands around each side of my chair and leaned forward to glare at her. She didn't flinch, as I half expected. She looked at me with disdain, and turned her nose up at me.

"I want you to leave here with me," she repeated. "I'm not letting you go."

"You don't have a choice," I said coldly. "I don't want you here."

"I know what you're doing. It won't work with me."

I felt my chest tighten briefly, but I shut out the emotions and continued breaking her heart. And mine.

"I don't want you."

"You're lying to me, and yourself. Give me some credit, Erik. I'm neither stupid, nor blind. I know why you're doing this," she said softly. Laure moved closer to me, and placed a hand on my cheek.

Unwillingly my eyes slid closed as her warm skin touched mine.

I felt so cold. So very cold, and alone.

Alone already, and she had not yet left.

"If this is what you want," she finally said, "then I will give you time to yourself. I don't want to force myself on you. I know our marriage was rushed...it was very sudden, and you still have so much pain from Christine behind you. From your entire life," she whispered, and knelt beside me. Her hands brushed away tears that had slipped down my face, "I know you think that I have a lowered opinion of you, after being here today...but I don't. And I don't blame you for needing this time, if that is still what you want. I love you," she said in a broken voice, "I love you and I want you to trust me enough to know that I don't care about the paintings...and the ring...and the...the mannequin. They're gone now. Forever. And you can paint a thousand portraits of me to replace them, if that is your wish. I'm not sorry they're gone. I am sorry I hurt you, because I never should have pushed you away, or lied to you. But if being here is what you need...at least for awhile...and please...let it only be a short while, then I will wait for you. However much time you need...I will wait. Because I love you, and you are worth it."

"Laure-"

"You still have to be _something_, Erik. You can't return to the life of shadows. There is nothing left for you there. But _I _want to help you be something. I don't want you to do it alone. Let me help you," she whispered, pressing a kiss near my mouth. "Let _me_ be the one who guides you."

--------------------

You're ready to kill me, right? LOL...I don't want this story to end! I have to keep it going, going, going! I think you'll like the way I go with it...even if it takes a little while. As we say in the south...we're going around by Laura's house to get there...or maybe it's Laure's house.


	73. Alone

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

My heart was broken into a thousand shattered pieces. He had broken it, unknowingly, and yet I knew that I was still not going to let him go.

Not without a fight.

_'Stupid, prideful man!' _I wanted to shout at him._ 'How dare you push me away, after all we have been through together!'_

I wanted to scream at him! I wanted to hit him!

What a foolish notion, him thinking that he would be happy being alone again.

It was in that idea that I took comfort. Erik was going to be miserable. If, by the time Nicolas returned, he was still intent on this pointless solitude, I would grant it to him.

If he thought he could honestly find peace after everything we had shared, he was going to be sadly mistaken.

At least I hoped so.

I stared up at him, and pleaded with him again to leave with me.

In his eyes, I saw indecision.

It was then, that I knew he truly wasn't ready. Maybe he did need this. Maybe spending a couple of weeks in his own miserable company would force him to see how much he belonged with us. If he wasn't willing to believe in me, then perhaps he could scare himself into believing in _us. _In the complete _rightness_ of being with Nicolas, and with me.

"I can see you are going to be difficult about this," I said slowly. "Very well. If this is what you want, I cannot stop you. I felt on our wedding day that I had trapped you into something you weren't ready for, and now I see that I was right. I hoped that the last week had proved to you that we didn't make a mistake, but I can see you are still reluctant to trust in our relationship. So, I'm not going to beg you. I'm not going to plead with you. I want you with me. But it is your decision, and I leave you to it."

He breathed a visible sigh of relief when I crossed to the other side of what I supposed was his living room. I saw him hang his head, and knew he was conflicted. I felt the tears fall that had been threatening since he had begun this...this breaking off of our marriage. I didn't know if this was permanent or not, but it felt like it.

"I'm going to miss you," I whispered, but wasn't sure if he heard me or not.

He was saved from answering by a sound from behind us. We both turned in time to see Nicolas drop through the ceiling where the mirrored room had been. His back was to us, and following him was a mass of curly brown hair and dark blue skirts, with a million layers of white ruffles beneath. He caught her in his arms, and set her down, and I could tell he was grinning.

"I told you I wouldn't let you fall," he said, laughing.

I cleared my throat, and he turned, the smile fading from his face. I stared in shock at the black domino mask across his eyes. He looked identical to Erik with it on. One couldn't tell them apart, except for the eyes...and the slight difference in build.

When Erik stood up, Nicolas took a step back, and reached up hastily and removed the mask. His face was frozen, his eyes darting between us. From behind his back, Christine stepped out meekly, her mouth dropping as she looked from Erik, to Nicolas. Her fist flew to her mouth in horror as she retreated towards the wall behind her.

"Who are you?" she whimpered, sinking back against the wall, staring at Nicolas. "Erik?"

He hesitated a moment, "I'm over here, Christine."

Her eyes went back to Erik, then finally, to me. She gazed at me desperately, seeking a woman's help to get her out of this situation. I looked away from her beautiful face and soulful brown eyes. She wouldn't find reprieve with me.

I still didn't like her.

"Nicolas, come here," I said with quiet anger.

I was through chasing him. I was through with this madness that had torn us all apart.

He strode to my side without hesitation, and I saw his eyes widen briefly before I slapped him.

"You...you have no idea what you've done," I said, choking on sweet hot fury. "You are a foolish boy. _Why?_ Why did you do this?"

"Mother...?"

With a fierce cry I reached for him, and nearly died when his arms closed around me.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to make you worry."

"You are in _so_ much trouble," I wailed against his shoulder. "You are going to be digging holes in the yard and refilling them until _you_ are thirty! How could you do this to us, Nicolas?"

I drew back away from him, and kissed the cheek I had slapped.

"I'm sorry," I said weakly, kissing it again. "I'm so sorry."

It was reddening, and I could see the indentions of four fingers across his smooth jaw. When had he begun shaving?

"It's okay," he said gruffly. "I'm strong enough to take it."

"I shouldn't have done that," I whispered. "I'm so sorry."

He held me tighter as I cried, and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"I wanted to find out for myself," he said softly. "I couldn't take any more. I saw the paper in Marseilles...and before I knew what I was doing, I was coming here. It seemed like the right thing to do."

"Why were you wearing a mask?" I said, only for his ears. "You shouldn't have brought her here, Nicolas. She belongs with her husband now. You shouldn't have even met with her."

"I had to."

I looked at Erik, and he was still staring at Christine, who was pressed against the wall, as if willing it to absorb her.

"Christine?" Nicolas spoke, and drew me gently towards her. "I'm sorry I tricked you. I didn't honestly believe that you would think I was him."

"Him?" she whispered, and looked at Erik.

"My father."

If it was possible, her face paled even more.

"This is my mother, Laure Sagesse. My name is Nicolas. Erik Nicolas Sagesse," he said formally.

Erik stepped away from us all, not looking at any of us, and Christine followed him with her eyes, watching every move he made.

"Father?" Nicolas said softly, and I saw Erik stiffen.

Would he push Nicolas away too?

"Are you very angry with me, Nicolas?" he asked, not turning around.

Nicolas looked at me, and I jerked my head towards Erik.

"Talk to him," I said tightly. "Tell him you love him."

"Mother..."

"Tell him," I demanded, whispering in his ear. "I swear, if you do not, then I will slap you again. He never lied to you._ I _lied to you, but we will deal with that later."

His eyes widened, but at my insistent pushing, he walked towards his father, looking over his shoulder at me for a moment, until I shooed him forward.

"Father? I...I'm not angry with you. I suppose you should be angry with me, though," he said nervously. "I didn't mean for you to come all the way here. I was planning on returning to Corsica."

"It doesn't matter anymore, Nicolas," he sighed. "I'm sorry I never told you about the fire. I thought you knew. I thought you knew everything."

"No, I didn't know. I haven't received a newspaper in almost a year, and when I saw it...I thought you had lied to me. Mother...she says _she _lied."

"Don't be angry with her. There was another letter from Nadir that you never found. When she discovered you hadn't read it...she destroyed them, and didn't tell either one of us. But don't be angry with her. She isn't the one who did all this," he said, and gestured to the cave. "She didn't have anything to do with what I did here."

"You killed those men...," he said softly. "...and you hurt Christine."

"I-I...yes I killed them," he whispered, and he finally turned around to look at Nicolas. "I've killed, Nicolas. My entire life...I've fought, and stolen, and yes, killed. I've never enjoyed it. Especially what I did in Persia. Your mother, she glazed over the details of my time there. I...I will tell you about them, if you wish. It will not endear me to you. You would really rather not hear of it, but I won't lie to you about anything. I killed two men here, and caused a fire that nearly killed more people, and burned this theater to the ground. I killed one, because he was trying to find me, and nearly succeeded. I thought it would protect me, and my home. It did. I killed the other...to replace him for the role in my opera. He would have alerted the gendarmes, and they would have shot me. I'm sorry that you must have me for a father, Nicolas," he said brokenly. "I wish I were a better man. And Christine...I didn't mean to hurt Christine. She was innocent, and I took advantage of her. I hope she can forgive me. I hope _you_ can forgive me."

His eyes were lowered to the floor, his hands trembling at his sides. He turned away from us and sank onto the stone steps near the shore.

"I would like to be alone," he said quietly. "Can you take your mother...and Christine? I would_ really_ like to be alone right now."


	74. Admit When You Are Wrong, Or Suffer

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Erik_

I heard him move behind me, but didn't expect the hand that came down on my shoulder. It reminded me strongly of my wedding day, when I had felt his support and strength as I stood, prepared to marry his mother.

"Won't you come with us?" he asked softly. "Or let us stay here with you?"

"Nicolas," I heard Laure say behind me.

She must have shaken her head, because he didn't press me any farther.

"Can I come visit you, then?" he whispered.

I looked at him over my shoulder. "Yes. I want to talk to you, in greater depth about what happened. But not today."

"Am I in trouble?"

I shook my head, "Not with me. Your mother, yes. Your grandparents, probably. But I can't bring myself to punish you, Nicolas. I can only hope you'll show more sense and consideration for your mother in the future."

"I'm sorry, Father. You want us to leave?" he asked quietly. "We'll go, then. But I'm coming back to see you. I...I do love you, Father. I do wish you'd change your mind."

His words caused the most painful, mortal wound to enter my gut. I felt the knife inside, twisting tighter and tighter, and knew that I was going to be tormented after they left.

He loved me.

It was still true.

"I love you, Nicolas," I whispered, and reached up to touch his hand briefly. "I hope to see you soon. Take...take care of your mother."

For me. Take care of Laure for me.

I didn't couldn't say the words, but he promised, and I released him. I stood up and turned around to face him, and he smiled for a moment before he went to assist Christine in the boat.

She had not taken her eyes off me since I turned, but I avoided her, not wanting to incite a conversation with her. The last thing she wanted was to be here, although for some reason she had followed Nicolas around like a lost puppy. The mask that had covered each side of his face, all the way down to his lips hadn't been the most clever disguise. I had no idea why she couldn't tell us apart. My eyes were green. His were hazel. His voice...completely unlike mine.

Was she really confused?

I had no idea what to think about their time together. I wondered for a moment if Nicolas had practiced his charm on her, and if she had fallen for it. I prayed that he had not. The last thing I needed was for her to remain in my life, for any reason at all.

Laure was still standing in front of me, looking directly at me in a way that made me both uncomfortable and expectant. I moved towards her slowly, and offered her my arm.

"I hope that you aren't angry with me," I said softly. "I know I have contradicted myself, wanting a family...and turning you away."

I stopped her near my writing desk and produced a leather case, filled with money. Her eyes widened as she looked inside, then back up to me.

"My fortune," I said gently. "Most of it, anyway. I want you to take it. I have no need of it."

"Is this forever, then, Erik? Are you kicking us out of your life permanently? That isn't what I want. That isn't what Nicolas wants," she said insistently. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet," I admitted. "I want Nicolas in my life..."

"But not me?" she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "Nicolas, and not me? I'm your wife. Do you remember anything you've said to me the last two days...on our wedding night, or the days and nights after that? Have you forgotten so much?"

"I will never forget," I said brokenly. "I...I just need time to figure out what I want Laure. I know I'm not the sort of man..."

I stopped as her hand reached up to cover my mouth. She pressed her palm to my lips, and shook her head.

"You are the sort of man I need. And want. You're the only man for me. I hope you realize it soon. I won't come here again, Erik. I won't force my presence on you. So if you want me, you'll have to find me."

"Find you?" I echoed.

"I'm not returning to Corsica. When I settle somewhere, I'll send Nicolas here. That should give you enough time...to decide. Your conversation with Nicolas will have to wait. I'll need his help, and since I have no idea where we're going, I can't guarantee you'll see him for awhile."

"How long?" I whispered, my words muffled beneath her hand.

"A couple of weeks? Honestly, I don't know. I've never done something like this before. I'm not trying to keep him from you, but I'm not willing to let him go off by himself so soon," she said firmly.

"Laure-"

"I guess this is goodbye, then," she choked out. "You're eager to be rid of us, and I'm ready to start my new life. I only hope you will allow yourself to be in it. I promise, it will be worth it."

She brushed a kiss on my cheek, and hesitated a moment, her breath against my skin for what felt like forever, then with a soft groan she kissed my lips, her hands sliding up through my hair, her body pressing close to mine. I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her back desperately. I knew then I had made a terrible mistake.

A terrible mistake.

The only place safe...was in her arms. The only comfort I ever found in my miserable life...was with her. And I had pushed her away.

No, I had shoved her away.

"I love you," she whispered, her eyes sparkling bright with tears. "I love you, Erik. Don't torture yourself down here too long. It ends when you want it to."

With a final kiss, she moved away from me, and stumbled down to Nicolas and Christine, who had been watching with fascination.

Laure took her place in the boat beside Christine, and faced stiffly forward as Nicolas pushed them away from the shore.

None of them looked at me as they left.

And not one tear fell as I sank into true despair.

_What had I done?_

_

* * *

_I hoped you enjoyed this story, and will read the sequel, Diminishment of the Ghost. Erik has abandoned his family, and must come to terms with his decision. There will be considerable struggle for all three of them, and he must make amends for things he has done wrong. 


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